A Cannon in the Wind
by Jalen Kun
Summary: "This game is punishing the districts and entertaining the Capitol. Why should we stop now? Why should we ever stop?" Welcome to the 5th Annual Hunger Games!
1. Prologue One

**Prologue One**

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><p><strong>A Cannon in the Wind<strong>;

_The 5th Hunger Games_

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><p><strong>Luciferous Kronin, President of Panem<strong>

It's the final three.

This year, the arena is a wide, spacious plains with practically nowhere to hide. The flowing grass beneath the remaining tributes is a bright green that almost distracts me from the blood stains. _Almost_. The girl from District 1 lies not too far away from the other two tributes, bleeding to death, a knife literally stuck in her back because of her conniving ally.

I chuckle. She was a fan-favorite, the District 1 tributes always are. I know the citizens of the Capitol were disappointed to see her go. With her soft blue eyes and her long flowing hair, she was the most attractive tribute this year—and she made it to the finale mostly because of the surplus amount of sponsors she received. It's a shame that she wasn't smarter; she should've known that the District 2 boy had always been a bit jealous of her.

After a minute or so, the girl finally stops fighting death, and her cannon _booms._

She lost the game.

And now, there are two.

The scrawny weakling from District 3 looks at the boy from District 2 incredulously, horrified that he'd suddenly kill his ally. I scoff at that. Why _wouldn't_ he kill his only real competitor and ensure his victory?

Sometimes, you just need to throw aside your humanity and fight, before you're eaten up. The knife in the District 3 boy's hand is suitable for killing, yet he won't use it. Tributes like him will never truly understand that the only alternative is their body on the ground and their cannon in the wind.

It's child's play, so why don't they get it?

The small boy tries to run, but the brute from District 2 immediately gives chase. Because of the nerdy boy's intelligence, he made it far—_too_ far, I would say—but it's as good as over now.

The older boy tackles the younger one to the ground, the child screaming all the wild. I roll my eyes. _Oh goodie_, I think sarcastically, _he's the screaming type._ It's only been a few years, and yet I'm already tired of the screaming tributes. Why can't they just accept death as it is?

Or better yet, why not actually _fight back?_

The District 3 boy doesn't hear my thoughts, and even if he did, I doubt the result would change. The District 2 boy holds the screaming child on the ground and sneers. Sneering at the complete domination, sneering at the idea of pure and utter victory. I smile, because _he's_ had the right idea from the beginning.

His only real competitor was the District 2 female, and he made sure to kill her off very early. The District 1 duo were fairly competent, nothing special besides the fact that they were the best-looking tributes. They were unintelligent and arrogant, though—most of the District 1 tributes are. I doubt they'll ever be anything more than pretty faces in the Games.

_Still_, I muse, half-heartedly watching as the District 3 boy begs for his life. _They don't usually have that I-Hate-the-Capitol aura about them. Maybe I'll help them out, give them a training center like District 2? The Capitol citizens would love for an attractive District 1 tribute to win for once..._

District 2 sided with us during the war, so they were rewarded with a training center to train for the Hunger Games and—obviously—a higher chance for one of their tributes to come out a Victor. And when a tribute comes out the arena as a Victor, their district gets an extra dose of food and money.

At least one child from District 2 will die, but they don't both have to. Not like District 11 or 12.

My attention flickers back to the screen, and I'm not surprised at all to see the District 2 boy on his feet, grinning victoriously at the camera. The screen settles on Arsen Mackenzie—the Victor of the 4th Hunger Games—and slowly flicks over the arena. The District 1 female lies on her side, the knife still inside of her back. The male from District 3 is lying not too far from the cheerful victor, his nose gruesomely punched inside of his head.

The camera flickers over to Arsen one last time before the screen goes dark, and the holographic video player on my desk powers off. I smile, remembering how satisfied I was with him winning almost a year ago. He played the game perfectly; he entertained the Capitol; he punished the other districts for rebelling.

That's the type of Victor I want. That _is_ the entire point of these games, right?

A knock at the door breaks me out of my thoughts. I sit up straight, putting on the best stern face I can muster.

"Come in," I call out, and immediately my mahogany door opens to reveal a short, elderly man with tan folders in his wrinkled hands.

"Good afternoon," my Head Gamemaker, Antonius Lavel, greets.

He closes the door behind him, gently, and I relax my features to a friendly smile. To anyone else, I have to look powerful; I have to look like the President of Panem. But Antonius is the person that decides what the arena will be, and all of the components affiliated with the Hunger Games is his responsibility. Without his intelligence and quick thinking, the Capitol wouldn't have a new Hunger Games to fawn over every year.

And that would be incredibly boring.

So I treat him like how I'd treat my best friend; I smile, I joke around, I show him the real side of Luciferous Kronin. Fear is a perfect way to gain control, but so is healthy encouragement. Antonius hasn't bored me yet, so I'm thinking he'll be my best friend/Head Gamemaker for a long, long time.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything, sir," he says, and I nonchalantly wave him off.

"Nonsense. I was just watching last year's Hunger Games, actually. It was a great success, as usual, Mr. Lavel." My cheery demeanor seems to break him out of his boring shell, because he smiles.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it, sir." Antonius stares at me for a few seconds, something in his eyes that I can't read, before he motions at the files on my desk. "These are the list of ideas, muttations, and blueprints we have created for this year."

My eyes flicker down to the brown folders, before they look back up at him. "I don't need these," I say, still smiling. "Haven't I told you before? I want to be surprised, just like everyone else. It's not fair if they get all the fun and I don't, right?"

For the fifth year, my Head Gamemaker looks exasperated. "B-But sir, what if the arena, or the mutts, or _something_ is not as you wish? Can't you at least—?"

"**No**, I can not." For a split second, I'm seeing red—but then that second is over and I'm smiling again. "Sorry, Mr. Lavel, but I want to be surprised by your designs just like everyone else. It's not a fun game if I already know what'll happen."

He looks down, quickly taking the papers off of my desk. "I see..." Antonius gets up from his seat and walks to the door, and I almost laugh at him. He's an excellent worker, but he takes his job too seriously sometimes. He doesn't see the Hunger Games as entertainment, and that's sad. That's really, really sad.

The Games are supposed to be fun, but he's acting like it's a boring chore. I know people that'd literally kill for his job.

_Maybe, like District 1, I'll treat him to something nice. But what would he want? A training facility doesn't seem like it'd be his cup of coffee..._

"Excuse me, sir."

I blink, flying back to reality. "What is it now, Mr. Lavel?"

He fidgets under my stare, finding the floor extremely interesting. "...Don't you think this is enough? The Hunger Games, that is. More than ninety-two children have died. Hasn't the districts learned their lesson? Hasn't the Capitol had enough?"

I laugh.

Like, I literally burst out laughing until tears fill my eyes, until my stomach starts to cramp. When I'm done, Antonius looks perplexed—but I don't care. That was hilarious!

"That was a funny joke," I remark, shooing him out of my office. "Get out of here, old man, before you _kill_ me!"

Antonius looks disappointed, but he leaves my office anyway. I raise a brow, wondering why. Was he serious just then..?

I snort, shaking my head. _Of course not_. These Games are punishing the districts and entertaining the Capitol. Why should we stop now?

_Why should we ever stop?_

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><p><strong>The tribute form can be found on my profile, including the rules and the deadline.<strong>

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><p><strong>Heya everyone! This is my first HG fic, and it's an SYOT too, meaning you can all submit your own tributes for me to write and gruesomely kill! Yay! :D<strong>

**I've done something like this, but for another fandom, so I'm not entirely new to the idea. I've been in the HG business for a while now, just in the shadows, but I've recently been making tributes like crazy and submitting them to various SYOT's...so some of you may have seen me. **

**Anyway, I'd love to try my hand out at an SYOT, because I love reading them. So yeah, that's why I doing this right now. I am kinda new to this, so please be kind in the reviews (if I get any ;-;).**

**As I said above, the submission form, rules, and due date are all on my profile, so please check them out. And I should say it right here, right now: _NO SUBMISSIONS THROUGH REVIEWS! _**

**With that being said, please submit your tributes! I'm really excited for this! ^_^**


	2. Prologue Two

**Prologue Two**

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><p><strong>A Cannon in the Wind;<strong>

_The 5th Hunger Games_

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><p><strong>Antonius Lavel, Head Gamemaker<strong>

After this year, over one-hundred innocent children will have been killed by Panem's newest drug, by Panem's newest evil.

_One-hundred. _

_Innocent children. _

_Dead. _

And I'm the main one to blame.

I didn't think it'd continue for this long, or even that I'd care so much. I accepted the job because my family needed the extra money—and, just like everyone else, I wanted revenge against the districts that "brought plague upon our land."

But revenge isn't sweet. And the only plague that's cursing Panem is the Hunger Games.

During the very first Hunger Games, I worked my ass off, completely invested in the idea of punishing the districts for killing countless Capitol citizens. I wanted them to suffer; I wanted them to cry; I wanted them to _bleed_.

I was so, so stupid.

The arena was a war-zone. Ironic, right? _They brought war to us, they ruined this land_—that's what President Kronin told me, and I believed every bit of it. So, as revenge, I'd let them have war against themselves.

_They'd know the pain we felt,_ I convinced myself. _They'll fight to the death, until only one tribute remains. That tribute will be the Capitol's example to never, ever fight us again. _This idea seemed golden to me, so I used it, embraced it completely. It wasn't supposed to be fun; it was a job, a duty that _needed_ to be fulfilled.

There were no deaths during the bloodbath, but I was alright with that. The tributes all went their separate ways, planning to survive this "stupid game" without giving us the satisfaction of watching them kill each other.

It was easy to set the muttations on them. Crows and vultures that tore out the tributes' eyes, hounds that ate the tributes alive, even rotting corpses that came back to life and strangled the tributes to death. It was horrific—and with every boom of the cannon, with every scream of a dying child, I realized something.

_This was wrong. _

The districts could've been punished in different ways. More humane ways. Hell, if we treated them right in the first place, maybe they wouldn't have rebelled in the first place?

But nobody but me thought of this. The Capitol citizens watched little kids die in sick entertainment, while the district citizens watched their children die in horror. And the one responsible? It was me.

It was _me_.

When the finale came around, the tributes were almost begging for it to end. And in response, the cheery, almost taunting voice of Aeliana Devrine came on.

"_Congratulations, remaining tributes, on making it this far_," she said, giggling childishly. "_If you want to go back home as the Victor of the 1st Hunger Games, then head back to the Cornucopia and fight for your life!_"

The tributes did as instructed...and instantly, they began brutally chopping each other to pieces. It was horrifying to watch teenagers charge at each other with so much hate, with so much animosity, with so much _fear_. And it was all my fault.

It was my fault, not theirs.

_I_ broke them.

The Games ended when Jewell Galamory from District 1 threw a knife at the boy from District 7, ending his life. Immediately I could hear the deafening cheers of the Capitol, cheering the girl for murdering a young boy, cheering the girl for tainting her hands crimson.

I felt nauseated at the amount of disgust I had—for them, for _me_.

I wanted to stop right then, but President Kronin made it pretty clear that if I bored or disappointed him, I'd have my head on a golden platter. He's become addicted to these Games, just like the rest of those fools. So year after year, I worked tirelessly, killing kids and even forcing them to kill each other.

Sometimes, I wished I was one of the tributes. Being gutted like a fish certainly felt better than doing the gutting, I realized.

This year, I'm going to kill again. This year, I'm going to make innocent children cry, suffer, _die_.

A tornado of emotions swell inside of me—and one day, I'm going to get blown away, without any way of returning.

Just like this year's tributes. In a gust of wind, they'll blow.

And then they'll die.

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><p><strong>Before you see the tributes, I want everyone to know that this was HARD. Okay? Okay. This was a really hard choice, and if your tribute isn't accepted, I'm sorry. Truly, I am. There was a lot of competition, and these tributes right here should be the best of the best. I'll be messaging everyone that wasn't accepted shortly.<strong>

**If your tribute, however, IS accepted...THEN CONGRATULATIONS! ^_^ I'll be messaging everyone that was accepted very soon. Once again, congratulations! :D**

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><p><strong>The blog for this story is on my profile. Or, if you want, just copy and paste this link (without the spaces).<strong>

_** acannoninthewind. blogspot. com**_

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><p><span><strong>Tribute List<strong>

**District One**

Male: Vesper Quinn, 18

Female: Adeline Callard, 18

**District Two**

Male: Kostos Sylett, 18

Female: Echo Woods, 17

**District Three**

Male: Tet Kender, 13

Female: Iris Logan, 12

**District Four**

Male: Caio Artelle, 17

Female: Ula Dylan, 18

**District Five**

Male: Michael Riverbee, 13

Female: Alexandra Fearn, 14

**District Six**

Male: Breno Harmont, 17

Female: Ceres Cantrell, 13

**District Seven**

Male: Daniel Church, 17

Female: Calla Mallow, 17

**District Eight**

Male: Zander Engres, 17

Female: Kaya Vause, 16

**District Nine**

Male: Terrance Vallier, 16

Female: Toren Ingalls, 15

**District Ten **

Male: Ricky Laris, 18

Female: London Tienna, 18

**District Eleven **

Male: Koda Samuels, 12

Female: Meeko Brighton, 14

**District Twelve**

Male: Eion Daltier, 18

Female: Isabel Abriani, 18

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><p><strong>Once again, I apologize if your tribute is not accepted. Please don't hold it against me. But hey, now you already have a tribute to send to another SYOT! :D<strong>


	3. Reapings Part One

**Reapings Part One**

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><p><strong>A Cannon in the Wind;<strong>

_The 5th Hunger Games_

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><p><strong>Aeliana Devrine, Hunger Games Interviewer  Announcer**

"You're on in..." The cameraman puts up three fingers, then two...and then...

Hot, blinding light hits me square in the face—but I'm more than use to it by now. I smile my cheery smile and wave at the crowd, just as the Capitol Anthem blares behind me. When it finishes, I open my mouth to finally talk.

"Good _morning_, you _beautiful_ people!"

The crowd goes nuts, as they do every year. Sometimes, I feel really, really proud of myself. Never did those other girls in school think that _I'd_ get chosen for such a wonderful career. Never did they think smelly Aeliana, pimple-faced Aeliana, crooked-teeth Aeliana would _ever_ be Panem's most famous star!

All it took was hard work—and a bit of sleeping around, but you know, _everyone_ does that to get up top.

Nobody calls me those humiliating names anymore. I don't smell bad; I have my own perfume brand! I don't have pimples; my beautifully crystal clear face is the envy of Capitolites everywhere!

I grin at everyone, showing off my sparkling white teeth. With a bit of surgery, my teeth literally _sparkles_. Never will I be said to have crooked teeth again; I made sure to have my personal dentist take care of _that_ problem.

All in all, I'm beautiful, amazing, a _star_. I'm _perfect_. And everyone knows it.

They all know it.

"Does everyone know what today is?" I ask, and they howl in reply. Of course they know. Anyone who gets up at eight o'clock in the morning to come to my private studio knows exactly what today's occasion is. "You all guessed it. It's Reaping Day! The most anticipated day _ever_!"

They all scream and hoot and jump—and I laugh. I laugh at their enthusiasm to finally see what kids will die this year. It takes a special kind of person to enjoy something like this.

And the Capitol is _filled_ with special people.

"Before we do that, though..." I swipe some of my yellow hair of my eyes. They catch the hint, _oohing_ and _awwing _at this year's newest design. This year, my hair is done up like a sparkling star, with ornaments adorning the interior to have it _shine_. "Aww, don't make me blush, everyone!"

I hide my face, pretending to be embarrassed—but I'm actually smirking behind my hands. Of course they love my hair. That's the best thing about me. Without my hair, I'd be hideous.

_Worthless_.

"Oh yeah." I look back up at the crowd, my apparent embarrassment completely gone. "We have a special guest watching the reapings with us today. Give a round of applause for Jewell Galamory, Victor of the 1st annual Hunger Games!"

The spotlight momentarily leaves me, and I use that time to massage my face muscles. Having to smile and act giddy for so long is more tiring than you could ever imagine. When the light comes back on, however, I'm joined by the beauty from District 1.

Jewell has on a light blue dress that sparkles in the spotlight, crystal clear heels made from real glass, and her hair is styled up in a nice ponytail. Not better than my hair—I made sure to let her stylists understand how annoyed I'd be if that were to happen—but still, it's pretty enough. The young Victor smiles at the crowd and even blows a few kisses, before looking at me and giving me a small smirk.

"Good morning, Aeliana," she says, her voice light. "I love the new hair. It must've taken a long time for _that_ idea to pop into your head, huh?"

I chuckle, swallowing the urge to tell this skank off. But if I did that, it'd ruin my image. And that's exactly what she wants. A little bit of rebellion that'll, just like always, _fail_.

"Yep." I agree with her, nodding like the sluts from her district. "I would've gone for the basic ponytail look—oh, but I wouldn't want to steal your thunder."

The crowd laughs at that—and she goes quiet, a bright red blush on her face.

_The District 1 reapings are about to begin, _the man from the control center says in my ear. I nod, discreetly turning off my miniature headset.

Once again, I give the crowd a grin. "Anyway, I have a hunch that the reapings are beginning! Let's watch, shall we?"

They cheer in response—and in the corner of my eye, I see Jewell clench her fists. I laugh. Even though she won, I bet she still can't shake away the fear of her Games. They didn't know what to expect at all. Even when she got reaped, the tears in her eyes were as clear as day.

The lights dim, and the giant screen behind me turns on. I roll around in my seat and prepare myself for the no-doubt attractive tributes from District 1—home of the official dim-witted sluts.

The first thing I see from District 1 is the decorations placed around the district square. The higher officials are up on-stage—the mayor reading the boring drawl of a treaty—while the children are all herded below into sections. Arrogant boys on one side, loose girls on the other. In contrast to the ribbons and "Happy Hunger Games" signs, they don't look too happy. But why would they? Odds are, these two tributes are going to die. They can try to appear pro-Capitol, but in the end, we all know their true feelings.

"...This is how we remember our past," the mayor reads, finally looking up from the white sheet of paper in front of him. "This is how we safeguard our future." A few children clap for him, and he goes to sit back down. And almost instantly, District 1's Capitol escort—I can't remember her name for the life of me—bounces up to the microphone.

"Good morning, District 1!" She greets. Her eyes are like a cat's, flicking back and forth _way_ too fast. "Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!"

A few more kids clap for her, but it's noticeably less than what the mayor had going on. She doesn't even seem to notice as her smile gets bigger.

"Well, now is the time for one attractive young man and one special young lady to be chosen for the _honor_ of representing District 1 in this year's Hunger Games." She closes her eyes and takes in a breath of air, as dramatic as ever. When she opens them once more, she grins. "Males first?"

I swear this lady is a real pervert, but that's beside the point. Before I can even _think_ of blinking, she's over at the male's bowl, digging her entire arm in. When she finally feels satisfied, she takes out a crisp slip of paper, laughing.

"And District 1's male tribute for the 5th annual Hunger Games is..." She opens the slip, extremely fast. I can just feel the tension in the district right now. Nobody wants to be reaped; nobody wants to die.

But two young children will. It's what they get for rebelling.

That's all there is to it. And I'll just be here smiling and flipping my wig—I mean..._hair._

"Vesper Quinn!" The Capitol escort looks up from the slip of paper and smiles, her eyes moving fast again. "Vesper Quinn, are you here? Come on up...please?"

There's complete silence down in the boy's section. The camera focuses on the crowd, trying to pick out this year's tribute. The boys' expressions range from sad to relieved to even smug. Stupid District 1 pricks.

But suddenly, there's movement. Roughly pushing past the other boys is a tall, attractive one. His eyes are light blue and practically _dares_ anyone to get in his way. Certainly not happy, that's for sure. His dirty blond hair is styled up in the annoying District 1 way—and when he gets into the aisle, we get a full view of his body. Strong-looking, but not _too_ strong.

Vesper calmly walks onstage and stands beside the escort—not smiling, not crying, not _anything_. He just looks off into the distance, his face passive but his eyes angry.

The Capitolites behind me all _ooh _when the camera closes in on his face. I roll my eyes at that. He's a real looker, sure, but I don't like my men coming from District 1. Thanks, but no thanks.

The escort looks completely taken over with him. "Y-You're Vesper?" She asks, and he nods, still not giving her any attention. "W-Well, that's fantastic! I smell the sponsors already!"

Half of them are going to be from her, but that's apparently beside the point.

Realizing that Vesper's not going to respond, she turns back to the crowd. "Time for the females," she says, a significant amount of enthusiasm gone. The escort quickly walks over to the girl's bowl and sticks her hand in, taking a slip out not even a second later.

...Is this lady bias or what?

"Adeline Callard!" The escort calls out, yawning a bit. "Please come up. Or don't. Your choice."

Immediately, there's chatter amongst the females. This one must be a popular girl, huh? Perfect, I _love_ dealing with those type of girls. After a few more seconds, the girls all seem to back away, leaving a tall blonde female separated from the rest. Adeline is skinny and well-dressed—actually, she's well-_everything_. I can tell just by the way her hair is combed and how her clothes are ironed that her appearance must be very important to her. Not the most attractive District 1 girl, though. We'll see how many sponsors she can pull off.

Adeline doesn't move immediately. She looks extremely surprised; mouth wide open, eyes wide open, completely frozen in place. After a few seconds, I guess she realizes that she's supposed to go to the stage, and she does so in a very controlled manner. Standing beside Vesper and her escort, she tries to pull off an emotionless look—but her eyes tell us just how much fear she's in.

The escort smiles at the crowd of children below her. "District 1, I present to you your tributes!"

The camera zooms in on the tributes of District 1. Vesper, his attractive face deadpanned, his gaze on something we can't see. If he were to actually smile, I think he'd get quite a bit of sponsors. And then there's Adeline, who's playing with her hands. Yeah, District 1 isn't looking too appealing...but they never do. To me, at least.

The big screen turns off, and the lights slowly start turning back on. I spin around in my chair and force myself to grin at the crowd of Capitol citizens.

"Wow! That was exciting, right?"

They cheer in response. Beside me, Jewell has on a totally fake smile, playing for the audience. I turn to her, starting the thirty minutes of time waiting for District 2. This is honestly the worst part of Reapings—but it's my job, so I shouldn't complain. Much.

"Well, Jewell, I'm sure the Capitol would love to know your feelings on this year's District 1 tributes." I twirl my hair as I talk, studying her face. I know she hates this part, too, which makes me like it just a bit. "So what do you have to say about Vesper and Adeline?"

Jewell smiles that plastic smile of hers. "Vesper seems like he'll be a really strong competitor, don't you think? Coupled with those looks of his, I'm almost positive he'll be the powerhouse of the Games." She looks over at the crowd. "So make sure you all sponsor him, okay?"

The crowd nods and cheers, and her smile grows. I prevent myself from scowling. _Little manipulative whore. Already snagging your tribute some extra points, aren't you? Well, I won't have that. _

"You do have _two_ tributes to mentor, remember?" I say. "What about Adeline?"

Her smile doesn't falter, I'll give her that. "I admire her ability to stay strong during the Reapings, because we all know how emotional some tributes get. I think that she'll be a really amazing tribute, probably even the Victor!"

I snort. _Of course she's gonna say that_. "I guess you're right. We all know how a _certain_ District 1 Victor reacted when _she_ was reaped." The crowd laughs, and for a split second, Jewell narrows her eyes. But showing anger would be bad—_extremely_ bad—so she turns that scowl into a half-assed smile.

"Well, the thought of representing my district made me a bit emotional." Jewell laughs, but every syllable she utters is filled with hate. "Anyway, Vesper and Adeline will both be fun to watch, so I really hope the Capitol treats them well. You too, Aeliana." Her fake smile turns into a very real smirk. "We all know how you like to ramble during the interviews. Try to give the tributes a bit of the spotlight this time, okay?"

The crowd laughs again, and it takes a whole bunch of willpower not to spit at this dress-wearing bitch.

"I'll try," I say, forcing a laugh. "Anyway, back to the tributes..."

We chat for a bit more—throwing shade whenever we can—until I get word that the District 2 Reapings are starting. I quickly inform the audience, they cheer in excitement, the lights dim, and the big screen flashes on.

Just like District 1, the citizens of District 2 have decorations placed around their square, and even some on the Justice Building. Not as extravagant as District 1, but I can actually _feel_ the appreciation towards the Capitol in this district.

They didn't rebel. We gave them a training center. Now, even if a tribute from District 2 is reaped, they'll be prepared. They'll have an upper hand compared to the slobs from District 11 or 12.

And it shows—hence the reason they have two Victors.

"Happy Hunger Games, District 2!" The Capitol escort is as bubbly as the one from before. It's probably in their job description. "I'm here, as you all know, to choose the very _best_ tributes that'll compete this year! Are you guys excited? _I'm_ excited!"

She rattles on a bit more, trying to lighten the mood with jokes. And because nobody in this district is particularly scared, she actually gets a few chuckles. Not much, but it's a lot more than what other escorts get. District 2 is a special case, a case the Capitol appreciates.

"Well, I think it's about time we get started. But don't worry, I'll have even better jokes next year!" The escort walks over to the female bowl, completely pleased with herself. Last year, I explicitly remember that she had a severe cold, and couldn't be as lively as she wanted. She's really making up for it this year.

She grabs a slip from the female bowl and walks back over to the microphone, no rush whatsoever. She also has a way with building up tension, which is also really appreciated here in the Capitol.

"And the female representing District 2 in the 5th annual Hunger Games is..." She opens the slip, tantalizingly slow. "...Echo Woods! Can Ms. Woods please come up?"

I'm expecting someone to volunteer like last year—but none of the girls move, or shout, or even _look_ like they want to volunteer. I guess the female tribute's death last year—being violently hacked down by her own District Partner—unnerved them enough to give up the option of fame and fortune.

And that means Echo Woods, whoever that turns out to be, will be this year's tribute. How lovely.

I just hope it's not some boring twelve-year-old.

In the female section, there's instantly commotion up front. The girls all back up, letting a fit-looking girl walk to the aisle. Echo has fiery red hair that's curled down to her back, and her piercing brown eyes give me the impression of a really tough girl—even if she _was_ reaped. Her expression is closed off, however, as she walks to the stage. But when she gets onstage, she gives one of the cameras a...surprisingly pretty smile.

"I'm Echo Woods," she says into the microphone, practically shoving the escort out of the way. "Victor of the 5th Hunger Games."

The audience behind me all start whispering to each other, impressed with her confidence. Overall, a beautiful girl coming from District 2 with confidence that's actually convincing? I may be wrong, but she can definitely gain plenty of sponsors if she plays her cards right.

To my right, Jewell looks really unimpressed—but what does _she_ know?

"No! Echo!" The camera dips back down to the female section. Causing quite the commotion is a pretty dark-haired girl, a worried look on her face. "Please, don't do this!" She turns around, towards the other girls. "Someone please volunteer! Please volunteer for Echo—you _have_ to!"

But nobody moves. Actually, most of the girls seem amused at her frenzied behavior. When the camera shoots back up to Echo and the escort, the red-head still looks deadpanned—although she _is_ avoiding the other girl's gaze. _What_ is going on here?

After the dark-haired girl is subdued by Peacekeepers—albeit rather gently—the escort goes over to reap the male tribute. She picks up the slip of paper and opens it, but before she can even _read_ the name, someone interrupts her.

"I volunteer!"

The camera shoots away from the escort and dips into the male section, searching for the volunteer. Behind me, the audience starts to murmur, and even _I'm_ scooting up in curiosity. While I may not like District 1, I _do_ have a thing for District 2.

An older-looking boy with blond hair, blue eyes, and pale skin runs into the aisle and then climbs onto the stage. My eyes widen at that. What an entrance! Not even panting, the volunteer turns around and gives the escort a cheeky smile that has the female members of the audience literally falling to the floor. He's pretty tall and slim, and his hair is ruffled in a way that's childishly attractive.

"Hi," he says, gently taking the microphone from the stunned escort. "I'm Kostos Sylett." He glances at Echo and smirks. "Victor of the 5th Hunger Games."

The screen shuts off, and the lights turn back on. Spinning around in my chair, I don't have to force the smile from creeping on my face.

"Wow!" I exclaim. "Now _that_ was something! I think District 2 has really outdone themselves this year, right?" _Way better than District 1, _I want to say, but as an interviewer, I can't be bias. Well, not much. Spiting Jewell would really make it worthwhile, though.

Speaking of her...

"Yes, I think District 2 has some really strong competitors this year..." Jewell trails off, that fake smile of hers present. But then, for some reason, she starts talking again. "Even though Echo didn't volunteer, it felt as if she was ready to partake in the Games already. And Kostos, volunteering and all, is definitely going to be interesting. I think they have two well-versed tributes."

I nod. For once, she isn't spouting nonsense. "Yeah, and what about the commotion in the female section? Echo looked uninterested, but that black-haired girl _had_ to have been acquainted with our female tribute. Your thoughts, Jewell?"

"Must be best friends—they didn't look similar enough to be sisters." She crosses her arms, smiling at me. "The female section didn't look too happy when Kostos volunteered, though. It was really hard to see, but a lot of them had a really disappointed look on their faces, some even downright astonished!"

"Yeah, I saw," I lie, coughing a little. Honestly, I didn't notice that at all. "Maybe they were expecting someone else to volunteer? I can't imagine Kostos being friends with _all_ of those young ladies." _He isn't like you District 1 sluts,_ I want to say, but I gulp that right back down.

"Maybe he is. Someone attractive like him must be really popular with the ladies." Jewell turns to smile at the crowd. "What do you all think?"

The audience all voice their opinions, and that's when I get word of District 3's reaping. District 2 had a longer reaping than most, so thankfully I didn't have to talk much. I inform the crowd of the next reaping, they cheer, the lights dim, and the screen flashes on once again.

District 3, unlike the first two districts, don't have any decorations plastered about. It's to be expected, though; they hate the Capitol, just like most other districts. All I see when the camera shows us the children are pale faces and moody expressions. It's sorta sad, really. If only they'd win just one Hunger Games, then maybe they could finally get in the spirit?

Doubtful, but still.

"Salutations, District 3," says the usual Capitol escort. She tries to sound smart for our smartest district, but she usually just ends up making a fool of herself. Still, it gives the Capitol citizens a laugh—and that's the entire point, right? "Just like always, I will be selecting the female tribute first. It is only suitable, correct?"

Nobody responds. They all just stare at up her in hate and depression. Still, she doesn't acknowledge the lack of enthusiasm, and goes over to the female bowl to condemn a young girl to death. She grabs a slip of paper, goes back to the microphone, and...

"Iris Logan!" The escort calls out. "Please allow yourself to—"

"_No!_" A shriek comes from the female section. All the way in the back. _Just great._ Instantly, the other twelve-year-olds back away from the reaped girl. Realizing that she was just called up, and that she's going to die...Iris collapses to the ground and sobs. Loudly. "No! No, please, _please!_"

The Capitol audience behind me stay silent, probably disappointed, while Jewell has a hard look on her face. She catches me staring and narrows her eyes, while I simply smile.

The Peacekeepers are upon the girl in seconds, literally dragging her crying form to the front. They toss her on the stage—pretty roughly—and walk away...and Iris does nothing but stay sprawled on the ground and cry. It's sad, really, but there's nothing to be done. If there's anyone to blame, it's her district for fighting back and causing this strife.

"Well..." The escort looks torn for a moment, but regains her composure pretty quickly. "Next up is the male tribute. Please try and represent your district better than Ms. Logan..."

She goes over to the male bowl, grabs a slip, and walks back over to the microphone. I can just _feel_ the tension in the audience, hoping that the male is some strong, sexy eighteen-year-old. And even in the district, I can feel their fear. They don't want to be reaped; nobody wants to die.

"Tet Kender! Please come up, sir!"

There's a bit of a pause when the escort calls the kid up. The crowd of boys don't even isolate the kid like how the girls did with Iris. For a good moment, it's like there's...no reaction.

And then, I see the littlest bit of moment. That's good; they didn't have to leave him alone for him to walk up. The bad news is that, like his little district partner, he's a small child. Thirteen-years-old at best.

Tet walks down the aisle slowly, a perplexed look on his young face. He's average height for a kid his age—maybe a bit taller—and really thin. His hair is light brown and wavy—and when he makes it to the stage, the camera focuses in on his face, showing us his light green eyes. He still looks really confused, and when the escort asks him how he feels, he acts like she's not even there.

The camera pans in on Iris again. She's a really pretty little girl, with her brown hair and young face...but she almost looks malnourished. She's not sobbing anymore, thankfully, but she's still on the floor, whimpering.

The escort looks at her two tributes and sighs. "Here you go, District 3," she says, dropping the smart voice. "Your representatives."

The screen clicks off, and the lights turn on. Once again, I spin around and force what must be a weak smile.

"Well..." I trail off, trying to find _something_ to say. Unfortunately, I can't think of anything...

So Jewell pipes up. "District 3 always produce intelligent tributes," she says, that fake smile of hers right back on. "It doesn't matter that they're young. I think, if we just gave them a chance, they could turn out to be something we'd never expect."

_Doesn't matter what they turn out to be, _I think, slightly irked at the fact that she's trying to one-up me. _They'll just end up dead, and you know it, Jewell. Why are you giving all of these nice comments to tributes other than yours in the first place?_

"It's kind of hard to see one of them actually winning, though," I say. "Nobody younger than fifteen has ever won before, so you can't blame us for being skeptical."

"Be skeptical all you want, Aeliana; I'm not telling you to _bet_ on them or anything." Jewell's retort gets a small laugh out of the audience. God, I can't _wait_ until she leaves. "I'm just saying, it's harsh to view tributes on their appearances rather than what's on the inside. For example, if I were to randomly see you on the street, I'd think you were some sort of clown!"

_A clown?! _I feel my face burning hot while the Capitol audience gets a real hoot out of her stale joke. _This… This tramp… She did __**not**__ just call me a clown!_

"See? Doesn't feel too good when it happens to you, right?"

The audience continues to laugh, and all I can do is stare at Jewell in disbelief. I want to wrangle her neck; I want to beat her head in; I want to throw her back in the arena and watch her burn! But… But I stay calm, if only for the billions of cameras recording every moment of our conversation.

But she'll get hers. I promise she will. If I can't get her personally, I'll do it in other ways. I'll make sure her tributes never get a single sponsor! For as long as I **LIVE**, dammit!

District 4 is starting. I hear the man in my ear, and somehow, I redirect my attention away from the District 1 bitch and back to the audience.

"Anyway, District 4 is about to begin, everyone!" I exclaim, my cheery facade back on. "Are you as excited as me to see some wonderful tributes?"

The audience voice their agreements, just as the lights dim and the screen flickers on. I spin back around to get a good look - but I make sure to give Jewell a dirty look beforehand. Just like how I did to her, she simply smiles.

_Stupid District 1 who-_

"Welcome, District 4, and Happy Hunger Games!" The escort this time is a male, in contrast to the ones before. I don't recognize him, though; he must've replaced the lady from last year. Trying to feel clever, the escort has a fake trident in his hands, and his shirt is purposely torn. "This year, I'd like to reap the boy first. Is that okay?"

Nobody answers him. District 4 has a few little decorations placed around, but it's really nothing to call home about. The kids, while mildly attractive, are also pretty moody and depressing to watch. So the camera cuts away from the kids and goes back to the escort, who now has a white slip of paper in his hand. One person in his hand.

"And the male tribute for the 5th annual Hunger Games is…" The escort unwraps the paper, skims over the name, and then nods. "Sorry if I pronounce this wrong, but can Caio Artelle swim his way up here?"

"_Shit!_" The camera dips down into the boys' section, and I exhale in relief when I realize that the boy is one of the older ones. The other kids step away from Caio, who just stands there, completely unmoving. His eyebrows are furrowed; he looks like he's thinking pretty hard, which is weird, considering most people end up walking to the stage with tears in their eyes.

When Caio continues to make no move, the Peacekeepers take things into their own hands. They move for him - and when one of them grab his arm, he shrugs them off and gives them a look of pure disgust. Surprisingly, they just watch as he puts his hands in his pockets and slowly walk to the stage, his brows still furrowed.

When Caio finally gets onstage, the camera zooms in - you know, to see if he's sponsor-worthy or not. And thankfully, I think he is. Caio is tall and handsome, and his skin is darkened due to always being in the sun, probably. His hair is an unruly mess, a mixture being straight and curly, and his dark brown eyes are almost calculating. With the addition of him being big and toned, I think this District 4 male can really pull off quite a bit of sponsors.

"Well, things are looking good!" The escort smiles at Caio, waving his trident around. "I bet you can't wait to swing this thing around in the arena, right? Here, hold it, show us how you'd look."

Caio glances at the escort, almost scowling. "I'd rather not."

The Capitol escort frowns for a split second, but then his happy-go-lucky smile comes back and he goes over to the female bowl. "Suit yourself. I'm sure your District Partner would love to wield such a mighty weapon." He sticks his hand in and picks up a small slip. "Speaking of your District Partner. The female representing District 4 will be…" He opens the slip quickly, apparently not one for dramatic pauses. "Isla Dylan! Please come up!"

The female section parts without much protest, leaving a young blonde girl by herself. She gapes, looking around in shock - but there's nothing anyone can do to save her. It's sad, too, because she can't be any older than fifteen. Not the best, tribute-wise, but it could be worse.

"No!" A shriek of defiance comes from all the way. The camera pans away from our female tribute to an older blonde running down the aisle, a worried look on her attractive face. "I volunteer! I volunteer!"

The Capitol audience all start murmuring behind me. Jewell makes a face, but I'm grinning at the screen, wondering _who_ this older girl is and just why she volunteered.

The camera focuses on the older blonde, the other girl completely forgotten. The volunteer has on a pretty white dress with brown sandals on, which is sure to get her sponsors. Her eyes are a striking grey, but her nose is a bit funny-looking for some reason. The volunteer has tan skin, coming from District 4 and everything, and her limbs are long and lean.

The camera suddenly focuses on her right leg, though, and the audience behind me gasps when they see the burn marks. It looks horrible! Now that it's caught my attention, I can see how she limps a bit on that leg. Definitely won't help her during the Games, that's for sure.

The volunteer slows down a bit, her face contorting to something unreadable...but when she looks back at the female section, she climbs the steps to the stage and takes her place next to the escort.

"Wow! That was some entrance!" The Capitol escort practically gushes over our female volunteer, giving her the microphone. "Please, tell us your name and the reason you volunteered!"

The volunteer grabs the microphone and scowls at the escort, silently telling him to back up. "Ula Dylan," she says, her voice softer than I thought it'd be. "And if you didn't realize it from my name, Isla is my little sister."

"Oh." He frowns a little, but then holds up his trident. "I'm sure you'd like to use this, though, right?"

Ula bites her lip, glaring bloody murder at her escort. Before we hear her response, though, the screen shuts off, and the lights turn back on. I spin around in my chair and glance at Jewell, who still has that unimpressed look on her stupid face.

"District 4 has some definite competitors this yeah, right?" I ask the Capitol audience, and they all voice their opinions. I glance at Jewell; I'm not letting her get the better of me again. "It seems that every district so far has topped District 1, though. What do you think, Jewell?"

"I don't think that's true." Her face is deadpanned; not happy, nor mad. "Vesper is definitely the strongest-looking one, and Adeline gives off a very special aura. As I said before, don't let first impressions guide you."

"But _come on_," I say, smirking. It's so cute that she wants to defend her little tributes. "District 4 had a strong-looking volunteer, and Caio doesn't doesn't look bad at all. And both of them have a little temper to them, which is always fun." Not fun for me, considering I have to interview these tributes - but I'm only saying this stuff to get on Jewell's nerves. And, by the way her face gets red, it's working.

"Whatever, you'll see first-hand just how _interesting_ my tributes are during the Games." Her face is still deadpanned, but the venom coming out of her voice is as clear as day. President Kronin will have a little word with her if she ends up losing her temper.

I laugh, motioning to the crowd. "No, we _all_ will see. Hopefully they don't disappoint." Turning to the audience, I smile my cheery smile and point to the screen behind me. "Anyway, that was only a _third_ of the reapings, and it's already getting heated up! I can't even imagine what the other tributes will turn out to be! Can you all?"

The audience give me their answer in the form of cheering. Of course they're pumped up. Four districts have passed by so far, and overall, I'm pretty pleased with the competition. Vesper and Adeline from District 1, Echo and Kostos from District 2, Iris and Tet from District 3, and Caio and Ula from District 4.

One of them could be the Victor, and yet, all of them could be dead in the next few weeks. That's what draws me in - the excitement, the drama, the adventure.

Twenty-four tributes, and only one Victor.

I love it.

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><p><strong>Well, I got this chapter out pretty fast, right? Haha, don't expect me to continue that. :|<strong>

**Anyway, thanks for all of the reviews, and I hope to get many more in the duration of this story. ^_^**

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><p><strong>For starters, I'd like to know how you all feel about Aeliana. Love her? Hate her? Please tell me in the reviews! <strong>

**As for the tributes that appeared in this chapter, which ones do you like the best? Which ones don't you like? Which reaping was your favorite? Tell me in the reviews, yo!**

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><p><strong>Next chapter, our lovely District 1 Victor will have to go, and the two Victors of District 2 will take her place. I don't know when the next chapter will be out, but hopefully pretty soon.<strong>

**Bye-bye! ^_^**


	4. Reapings Part Two

**Reapings Part Two**

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><p><strong>A Cannon in the Wind;<strong>

_The 5th Hunger Games_

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><p><strong>Heloise Jones, Victor of the 2nd Hunger Games<strong>

"You look fine." Arsen shoos me away, exasperated. "Sure, you don't look as good as me, and you're kinda old news now—but you're _fine_."

I look down at my black heels, a cloud of insecurity washing over me. I've always been a bit self-conscious. Always. And winning the Hunger Games didn't help. As far as I know, winning just made it worse.

"I'm sorry." I fidget uncomfortably in my tight black dress. People say that I've been blessed with an amazing body, but I just don't see it. "I— It's just hard, getting used to this...and I need your help, Arsen—"

"I _am_ the best person to ask," he interrupts, his attention more on the mirror in front of him than me. "But unfortunately, I don't have the time to turn on your lamp and tuck you in at night. I'm a Victor, and you need to start acting like one, too."

I look back up at him, my hands clenching—but then my gaze settles back to my little black heels. I should get mad; I should say something, _anything_ to defend myself against his verbal attacks.

But I don't, I _can't_. I was never an audacious person—but after my Games, I turned into something a lot worse.

A _killer_. A crazy, homicidal, shy little _killer_.

And Arsen... After he won the 4th Hunger Games, his already bloated ego skyrocketed. Even though I'm older than him, even though I won before him, he treats me like an annoying child. He's a killer, too, but he's accepted it, _embraced_ it—and he's living with it.

Something I can't do.

"I'm sorry..." I step back a bit, feeling the tears pepper my eyes. On the small screen next to me, the pair from District 3 are forced into the Justice Building. Two young children being forced by this evil society to fight for their lives. It's the worst thing anyone could do.

These people take away the youth of Panem and kill them on national television. There's nothing more cruel, nobody more horrible.

And I won these so-called _Hunger Games_. I did the Capitol's bidding and killed other kids—for fame, for fortune, for my own life over theirs.

What does that make me?

Arsen suddenly groans, jumping up from his chair and violently kicking it across the room. I flinch at the noise it makes, and then at the crazed look in his eyes. Arsen huffs, glaring at me.

"My hair doesn't look right!" He screams, turning around and swiping the beauty supplies on the floor. The glass containers all break and spill their contents; I flinch again. "They aren't going to take me seriously if my hair looks like a train-wreck!"

Just so you know, Arsen's hair is perfect. In every way possible. I don't see a single thing wrong with it—but apparently, it _doesn't look right_ to him. And whenever Arsen doesn't like something, whenever he gets the tiniest bit upset, he...

"**WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT?!**" He screams at me, grabbing a pair of clippers off the floor. It only takes a quick second for him to chuck it at me—and if I wasn't a Victor, if I didn't dodge a sword coming right at my neck during my Games, I'd be dead.

But I am a Victor, even if I don't like it, even if I feel like crying whenever I think about it.

I tilt my head to the left, and the clippers lodge itself right in the wall. _That could've been me, _I think, rushing out the room before he can do something worse. _That should've been me. It should've. _

I run down a dark hallway...but suddenly, I slip, falling and banging my head on the floor. The impact pains me to the core—but I'm use to pain, mental and physical. And right now, the mental pain is overpowering the physical.

I don't know how long I stay on the floor, trying to hold back my tears. I cry a lot, but I can't cry here, not in the Capitol. Every person in the world will be able to see and judge me here. If just one tear fell from their _darling_ Victor, it'd be on headlines everywhere. And I can't handle that.

I can't handle much, but I definitely can't handle that.

"Heloise!" I hear a Capitolite's voice—probably my stylist—and strong hands start to pick me up. I know those hands; I know how Arsen's hands feel. Whenever he goes crazy, they always seem to attract to my neck.

The Games broke him. When his District Partner threw a rock at his head, the impact clicked something horrible into place. The impact made him insane. His emotions are a whirlwind that don't stop for anyone.

Not even himself.

I open my blurry eyes, meeting my fellow Victor's brown ones. Arsen smiles that sweet, kind smile of his—like he _didn't_ just have a mini tantrum, like he _didn't_ just almost kill me. He helps me to my feet, while my stylist rattles on about the importance of getting ready and how Aeliana will be calling us up soon.

But I don't focus on that much. All I can think about is how stupid this all is, how wrong this all is, how much I just want to close my eyes and die.

_Heloise Jones, the depressed Victor of the 2nd Hunger Games. _

_Arsen Mackenzie, the bipolar Victor of the 4th Hunger Games. _

The ride will only get worse from here. It always does.

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><p><strong>Aeliana Devrine, Hunger Games Interviewer  Announcer**

_Now's the time for Ms. Galamory to leave, _says the man from the control center. For a second, his voice abruptly coming in my ear shocks me—but I don't let the surprise show. I'm a _professional_.

I'm the face of Panem! If _I_ can't mask my emotions on television, nobody can.

Not even this stuck-up Victor.

"Ah, what's this?" I blink, putting on a facade of innocence. Jewell gives me a look—no doubt she knows what's about to happen—while the Capitol audience all lean in, engrossed with every word I say. "Aww, I just got word that our Shining Victor has to leave! How _unfortunate_."

Jewell furrows her brows, pure irritation flashing in her cerulean eyes. She caught the sarcastic tone I used just then, but I couldn't care less. She could blow up the moon and I'd be perfectly content, just as long as I don't have to see her smug face anymore.

The audience all whine at my announcement. Of course they fell for her happy-go-lucky facade—but not me! The day I'm tricked by a District 1 _bimbo_ is the day the districts will win against the Capitol.

So never, basically.

I put up a finger, stopping the sad voices immediately. "But don't worry! Joining us next will be my two favorite Victors: Heloise Jones and Arsen Mackenzie, the two Victors from District 2!"

The audience's mood does a complete u-turn, going from depressed to excited in a matter of seconds. Jewell smiles that fake smile of hers, waving goodbye. She gets up from her seat—but suddenly, she turns to me.

"Goodbye, Aeliana," Jewell says, sneering. I bet she's ecstatic over the fact that she doesn't have to sit up here for much longer; _I'd_ be. "I hope you don't cause Heloise and Arsen much trouble."

I snort. _Of course_ she's trying to get the last word in. Last year, right before she left the stage, she mentioned how my hair design was tilting to the right. I was pissed about that for literally _weeks_.

"Don't worry, I won't. And hey, don't take this personally, but you should probably use a bit of mouthwash when you get back to your dressing room." I smile innocently, ignoring the laughing of the audience and her incredulous gasp. "I just don't want you embarrassing yourself, that's all."

The audience continues to laugh. Even as Jewell scowls and storms off the stage, clenching and unclenching her fists. I start laughing, too, completely pleased with myself.

I always get the last jab in. And I'm willing to hit below the belt and even lower if I have to.

It's just what you have to do if you want to stay afloat in this business. It might not be as tense as the Hunger Games, but it's challenging in it's own right.

I turn back to the crowd, grinning. The stage looks so much _better_ with that monkey-girl gone. The fact that I have to see and hear of her every year is torture enough, but to actually share a stage with Jewell Galamory is...equal to _death_.

"Anyway, District 5 should be starting their reapings now! I know Heloise and Arsen aren't here yet, but they'll be appearing right after this reaping concludes. So for now, you guys can pay attention to _me_ and _me_ only!" I spin around in my chair, giggling. Apparently, my exuberant attitude is contagious, because the Capitol audience all start laughing and grinning as well.

When the lights dim and the screen flashes on, we're all happy and ready for the _wonderful_ tributes of District 5.

Note the sarcasm. Their tributes are always lackluster at best...

The first thing we can see from District 5 are the power plants placed throughout the place. Considering they're the reason we have electricity, us in the Capitol _should_ treat them better...

But no-one really cares about that. Call us whatever you want, but it's hard not to be ungrateful when everything has always been given to us. The Hunger Games are a prime example of our power.

The escort for this district is also a male—but he's a regular occurrence, and he says the exact same thing every year.

"Good morning, District 5, and I hope it continues to be a good morning!" He says in that cheerful tone of his. "I'll be starting the reaping with the males, as usual, and we'll end it with the females. Any questions before I get started?"

If someone were to wipe a drop of sweat off their brow, I'd be able to hear it. That's how silent it is in District 5. They all probably despise this man—no, they all despise the _Capitol_. District 5 may not be as smart as District 3, or as rebellious as District 11, but even they won't submit to us peacefully. It's sad when you think about it.

I _do_ notice that there are a bit more Peacekeepers around than usual, though, and they're situated more around the females. Why is that..?

"Gotcha!" The escort exclaims, grabbing a slip from the bowl. If possible, things are even quieter as the escort walks back to the microphone. The tension is so thick that, even though I'm miles and miles away, I can _feel_ it. "And the male tribute representing District 5 in the 5th annual Hunger Games is..."

He opens the slip. The audience behind me all lean forward.

"Michael Riverbee!"

The same thing has happened in every district, and it doesn't seem to be stopping here. In the back—_of course_ in the back—the kids begin to slowly disperse and leave the reaped child by himself. Michael frowns, looking around at the various children—at the kids he _thought_ were his friends, who're now abandoning him to the snake's den. The escort calls his name again—and to Michael's credit, he walks into the aisle and up onto the stage without any Peacekeepers threatening him. Even as the little thirteen-year-old stands beside his escort, he doesn't display any of the usual bloodbath symptoms!

_This kid may actually be interesting, _I think, smiling.

And that's when Michael starts to cry.

I stifle a groan behind my hands, and the audience behind me all start frowning. _There goes his chance at decent sponsors, _I think, shaking my head.

"...Well, now for the ladies." The escort tries his best to ignore the crying child and quickly heads over to the female bowl. But before he can even stick his hand inside, a shrill scream breaks through the silence.

"I volunteer!" A young girl—probably fourteen or fifteen-years-old—pushes her way out of the crowd and calmly walks down the aisle. I blink, surprised, and the members of the audience all start whispering. A young girl from District 5 volunteering is...not at all what I was expecting.

The young volunteer has a confident aura about her as she walks up the stairs. But before she can greet the escort, however, a Peacekeeper suddenly stands in her way.

"What?" The girl demands, a scowl instantly forming on her face.

"Alexandra Fearn, you are not allowed to volunteer," the Peacekeeper responds, rather mysteriously. _He knows her name?_ I think, intrigued at the display.

For a second, fear crosses Alexandra's face—but it's instantly replaced with that scowl again. "And why not?" She challenges, not backing down. "The Hunger Games are a _very_ special event in Panem, and the rules state that anyone twelve to eighteen can volunteer if they want to. As soon as the words left my mouth, I became property of the Capitol. That means you have absolutely _no_ authority over me...nor my family."

The last three words are almost said in a whisper, but it gets the point across. The Peacekeeper slowly steps to the side, allowing Alexandra to walk by. By now, the Capitol audience are in a buzz of questions—and I am, too!

Who is this girl? Why did she volunteer at such a young age? And what was that whole ordeal with the Peacekeeper about?

"Well...is there anything that you'd like to say, Ms. Fearn?" The escort asks the girl, bringing the microphone closer and closer to her face.

Alexandra shakes her head, turning away from the escort and to the crowd. "No, there's nothing I'd like to say. Not to _you_, anyway..."

The camera cuts away from the escort's gaping face and zooms in to the two tributes of District 5. Michael has big fat tears coming out of his hazel eyes and running down his cheeks. His dark blond hair sits atop his head, swept to the side, and his skin is clean enough. A lot of these district kids take no care for their skin, so that's good. Michael is short and scrawny, though, so that won't do him any good during the Games. Unfortunately, my bloodbath senses are tingling.

Alexandra, however, doesn't give me that feeling. Her age may prevent her from getting that Victor's crown, but I definitely don't see a bloodbath in her. Alexandra has waist-length black hair, striking grey eyes, and pale skin. Just like her District Partner, however, she's short and thin—which also won't do her any good. She's really pretty, though. Couple that with the fact that she volunteered, and I can see some good sponsors in her future.

The last thing we see from District 5 are the two tributes walking into the Justice Building, the horde of Peacekeepers following closely. The screen shuts off, the lights flash on—and suddenly sitting beside me in their own chairs are the two Victors of District 2, Heloise and Arsen.

I fake a scream—_of_ _course_ I knew they would appear—while the audience members all gasp.

"Oh wow!" I exclaim, my hand over my heart. "You two came out of nowhere! Don't scare me like that!" The audience starts to laugh, and Arsen smirks at me.

"Well, we _did_ win the Hunger Games," he says, leaning back against his seat. "Isn't being stealthy a keen component?" His black hair is spikier than the last time I saw him, and his smirk is sexier, too. While his looks may not be as good as the District 1 idiots, it's good enough for me.

More than good enough, actually.

I laugh, wrapping a piece of hair around my finger. "I don't think you were that stealthy during your Games, Arsen. ActualIy, I believe you ran head-first into danger a whole bunch of times!"

He's the one to laugh this time. "Hey," he says, shrugging. "You gotta do what you gotta do. If you want to talk about stealth, though, Heloise is your girl."

The attention is instantly directed to our quiet Victor. Heloise smiles a small smile, waving at everyone when they start cheering for her—but she doesn't say anything. Only when Arsen nudges her playfully does she stutter out a response.

"W-Well, hiding out while everyone else is dying..." She trails off, her eyes looking off to the side. Remembering the memories of her arena, no doubt. "...it's better than killing others," she mutters after a while.

Arsen bursts out into a loud laugh. "You don't think we'll believe something like that, do you?" He asks her, to which she just stares. "Sure, you hid for a bit—and hiding is _lame_—but you definitely made up for it. How many did you kill? Four? _Six?_"

Heloise looks down, focusing on her pretty black heels. "Yeah," she whispers. "Six. I killed six ki—"

"It was like you were on a rampage!" Arsen interrupts, laughing. The members of the audience laugh along with him. "Seriously, though, it was awesome. Not as awesome as _my_ Games, but still, it was cool enough."

Heloise doesn't respond—and that's good, because even though Arsen is my favorite Victor, he can talk a _lot_. The quicker we get off that subject, the better.

I clear my throat, regaining attention. "Yep, both of your Games were amazing to watch! But unfortunately, that's not why we're here." I point to the blank screen. "You two watched the reaping just now, right? Your thoughts on District 5?"

Arsen and Heloise both give me a blank look, probably forming their opinions. After a few seconds, Heloise looks back down to her heels, and Arsen opens his mouth to answer.

"They were okay, I guess," he says, scratching the back of his head. "That Michael kid is going to die, definitely, and Alexandra might make it far, but not too far. District 2 is definitely stronger than them."

I chuckle. "That's nice to hear. What about you, Heloise?"

The female Victor looks up, frowning. "...Michael is small, meaning he may be fast. And if he's fast, then they can't kill him...right?" She looks down again, but continues talking. "I'd really like to know why Alexandra would...do something like that, though..."

"Volunteer?" I ask, and she nods. "Oh, yeah. I'd like to know that, too."

Heloise is a sweetheart, but she's too much of a sweetheart. Unfortunately, she doesn't see the Games like Arsen and I do. If she doesn't interact more with us, she'll stick out like a sore thumb—and I'm sure President Kronin won't appreciate that.

_District 6 is coming up, _I hear in my ear. Before Arsen can suddenly add his two cents, I put up a finger, stopping him.

"If my hunch is right, and they usually are, then I think that District 6 is starting their reapings!" I exclaim cheerily, laughing when the audience starts to cheer. "Let's watch it, shall we?"

I spin around in my seat, flashing Arsen and Heloise a grin. Arsen grins back, winking at me, while Heloise just looks back down to the floor. I know she's just a shy little thing, but it's really starting to annoy me...

_But don't worry, _I tell myself, waiting for the screen to flash on. _Nearly halfway there. Just watch the rest of these reapings, enjoy Arsen and Heloise's company...and then put up with that District 7 guy. But after that, I'll be done! Just a few more kids to be reaped. _

Just a few more kids that'll have to die.

As soon as the screen turns on, we're greeted with the sad faces of District 6. The children seem to have a depressing haze around them, while the officials onstage aren't looking too happy either. Overall, everything just looks sad and undesirable. Thank the heavens above that I was born here in the luxurious Capitol.

There's one colorful person that stands out, though...

"Hello, District 6!" The escort greets. She's a tall woman with bright orange hair and a smile that just won't quit. "I'm so, so happy to be here today! We didn't do so well last year, but I'll try my hardest to reap two strong tributes this year, alright? Okay then! With that being said, I'll try to be original and choose the male tribute first."

I snort. _Yeah, you and every other escort. Try again next year, okay?_

The escort hurries over to the male's bowl and sticks her hand in. She digs around for a good few seconds until, finally, she pulls out a little white card. Opening the card before she can even walk back to the microphone, she reads it to herself, and then nods.

"Breno Harmont!" She calls out, grinning that giant smile. "Come up and represent your district, sir!"

The camera searches through the male section, trying to pinpoint our District 6 tribute. The boys in the front—thank _Panem_, an older male—start to back up, leaving two boys by themselves. One of the boys, a determined look in his eyes, start towards the aisle—but the other boy grabs him by the shoulder and starts whispering something in his ear.

The Peacekeepers start to move towards them. But before they can get close enough, the boy that stopped the other boy from going—wow, that's confusing—puts his hands in his pockets and walks down the aisle, all the way up to the stage.

I blink. Okay, that was...kinda weird. I definitely need to ask this guy about that during his interview.

"And you are..?" The escort asks, to which the boy snorts.

"Breno Harmont," he says, smirking. "I _am_ the person you called up, right? Because if not, we can just act like this never happened..."

"No, you're the one I called." The escort smiles again. "Glad to meet you, Mr. Harmont!"

Breno nods, not saying anything anymore. He's holding the confident act pretty well, but that's probably all that's going for him. Breno _is_ pretty attractive, however. With his neat, dark brown hair, his stormy eyes, and his mischievous smirk... I guess a few people won't hesitate to sponsor him. That is, if he doesn't blow it by breaking down.

_...Please_ don't blow it.

"And now, for the girls!" The escort strides over to the female bowl, her orange hair blowing in the wind. "Let's pray for a strong female to match our strong male, shall we?"

She doesn't get a single noise of response—but I doubt that matters much to her. She grabs a slip, this time getting it from the top, and quickly opens it.

"Ceres Cantrell!"

This time, the camera focuses on the front of the female section...but nobody moves, or speaks, or makes any sort of reaction that they've been reaped. _Dammit_, I think, shaking my head. _Another brat. _The camera moves to the back, slowly...and that's when they find her. The girls around Ceres move away, almost shyly, leaving her alone.

Ceres Cantrell is a cute girl with mid-length black hair tied up in a ponytail. Her eyes are a dark brown, yet they don't display the innocence that girls her age have. The most eye-catching thing about her, though, is the fact that she's wearing blue jeans and a black hoodie. Every other tribute was dressed in something a little bit decent—but seriously? _Jeans?_

Ugh, district children...

Ceres looks around, shell-shocked, her mouth wide open. Better than crying, but still not a good first impression. Ceres just stands there, not moving a muscle—and that's when the Peacekeepers move. One of them grabs her by the arm and guides her to the stage, but half-way, she wrenches her arm away and climbs the steps all by herself.

"W-Well..." The escort doesn't know what to say. Calling her strong-looking would make her a liar, but saying anything else would be downright mean. So instead of saying anything to the little thirteen-year-old, she smiles.

Bruno snorts, looking the girl up-and-down. Suddenly, he cracks a small smile. "How lovely it is to meet my District Partner," he drawls. "Even though we'll be soon fighting to the death."

"It's _not_ so lovely to be meeting you," Ceres mumbles, her head down. And then the screen flashes off.

The lights turn on, and instantly, the Capitol audience is ablaze with their many comments. There's so many voices ringing out at the same time that I can't even begin to distinguish any of them, so I just chuckle.

"Well, that was interesting!" I say, grinning my fake grin. I swipe a bit of hair out of my eyes. "District 6 isn't looking too bad, I'd say. Breno looks strong and pretty charming, while Ceres is a little sweetie. What do you all think?"

Arsen answers before the audience can even _think_ to voice their opinions. "Breno doesn't look that strong. Definitely not stronger than me, _nor_ Kostos. And honestly, little kids like Ceres should just get out the way so that the older, stronger tributes can shine."

I blink. _Wow, no subtlety at all..._

"Well, that's an interesting opinion from our _vicious_ Victor." The audience gets a chuckle out of that; I smile. "What about you, Heloise? Don't let Arsen forget who's the elder here!"

Heloise looks up, a nervous smile planted on her face. For someone so beautiful, she's so insecure, and I just _hate_ that about her.

"Breno is nice. I do wonder what he was whispering to that boy about, though," she tells me, and the audience hums thoughtfully. "Also, Ceres was really strong. To be reaped at such a young age, and not shed even one tear..."

She trails off, looking back to the floor. But her thoughts were acknowledged, so that's good. I really do like Heloise, and I'm just trying to make sure she doesn't fade away.

She reminds me of myself a lot. Back when I was bullied by the other girls because of my skin, or my smell, or my hair...I always wanted someone to stick up for me. I can do that for Heloise. I can; I _will_.

"I think District 6 will really entertain us this year," I say to the audience. "Speaking of entertaining, did you all know that..."

We all continue chatting, bouncing off of each other with smooth precision. Arsen is a really good conversationalist, even though he somehow ends up bringing everything back to him or his tributes. And Heloise is already one of the audience's favorites, because of her Games, so anything she says will be taken nicely. And _I'm_ the star of Panem, so I could _fart_ and the audience would love it!

Before I know it, I'm receiving word of District 7's reaping. I inform the audience and spin in my seat, waiting for the lights to dim and the screen to flash on. Hopefully, District 7 doesn't end up disappointing me. For some reason, they always do. Even their Victor just irritates me.

The first thing the camera shows us are the vast forests around District 7. I guess they want some of the more ignorant viewers to realize that we _are_ in District 7 now, since they're so well-known for their axe-wielding tributes. The camera suddenly switches over to the site of the reaping, though—and just like District 6, District 7 is swallowed by a layer of depression. The boys aren't looking too sad—they look more irritated than anything—while the girls are practically biting their nails in anxiousness.

I've said this before, and I'll say it again. Nobody wants to get reaped.

Nobody wants to die.

These children may have a slight advantage against the others because of their experience with a weapon, but that doesn't do anything more than make them targets. Not to mention the Gamemaker traps, and the Arena itself...

Yeah, just being able to swing an axe around hardly helps, if you think about it.

"Welcome, District 7, to the reaping for the 5th annual Hunger Games," says their escort. She's a short lady with dark green hair and a very monotonous voice. I can't see her keeping her job for much longer. "You might not realize it, but I'm very excited for these Games. I hope you all can take some of my enthusiasm and use it yourselves."

I roll my eyes. _As enthusiastic as death. _

"Anyway, I'll be starting." The lady slowly walks over to the female bowl. It's so quiet that every step she takes reverberates throughout the place. Still taking her sweet time, she sticks her hand inside the bowl...and with no change in expression, she grabs a slip. "And the female representing District 7 this year is..."

She opens the slip. _Agonizingly_ slow. It's not even suspenseful anymore, it's just plain irritating.

"Calla Mallow," the escort calls out, deadpanned. "Please come up."

The camera shifts to the female section. In the back, the girls drift away, giving us access to the reaped tribute. Calla doesn't stand still like the girl previous to her, however. With her hands clenched and her eyes closed, she pushes her way past the girls and walks out into the aisle. When her dark green eyes open, I see fear beyond belief—but I also see acceptance and determination. She's been reaped for the Hunger Games, but she's not going to break down.

I like that. I truly do.

Better entertainment if the tributes actually fight back instead of crying, after all.

Calla makes it to the stage and exhales. The camera zooms in on her face, trying their hardest to find weakness of any sort—but there's none to be found, outwardly of course. Calla is a pretty tall girl with tanned skin and dark green eyes. She's wiry, too. Her light brown hair hangs in tight curls down her back, and her face is filled with freckles.

I wrinkle my nose at that. Here in the Capitol, freckles aren't considered cute, but more-so akin to a blemish. Calla isn't very pretty, though, nor sexy. As far as I can see, she might only get sponsors because she isn't on the floor crying right now.

The escort doesn't greet Calla, nor does she really even acknowledge her existence. She just walks right past the female tribute and straight to the male bowl, not saying a word.

I repress a groan. She definitely needs to be fired. _Quickly_.

"The male representing District 7 this year will be..." She grabs a slip, opening it just as slow as before. With the way she's moving, District 8 might have to air right after! "Ro—"

"I volunteer!"

My eyes widen. _Another_ volunteer?

The camera pans down, revealing a young boy rushing towards the stage. He's handsome, that much is clear, and the smirk on his face is nothing less than cunning. He's almost like the boy-version of Alexandra!

_Still, _I think, sighing. _Young volunteers are nice and everything, but... I'd rather someone older—_

"_I_ volunteer!" Suddenly, another body shoots out into the aisle.

I gasp; the audience gasps; Arsen and Heloise gasp—_everyone_ gasps as the young volunteer is roughly shoved to the ground, being replaced by an older male. The older volunteer quickly runs down the aisle and up the steps, a sad smile on his face when he reaches the escort and his District Partner.

"My name is Daniel Church," says the volunteer, carrying a weird accent. "And I volunteer for the Hunger Games."

I blink. Okay, _that_ was unexpectedly crazy.

The camera goes back down to the aisle. The younger volunteer—or I should just call him a boy now, because he lost that chance—stares up at Daniel in complete and utter shock. Now that I think about it, they look alike. They look _very_ similar, actually.

The camera goes back up to Daniel, and the audience behind me all _ooh_. I roll my eyes. I guess he's attractive. His features are sharp and handsome, while his dark hair reaches just past his eyes. His eyes are a dark brown, almost black—and I'm almost captured by the emotion hidden behind those dark orbs. Lastly, he's thin and tall, taller than most tributes we've seen so far. If he plays his cards right, I think he'll stand a very good chance!

We get one last glimpse of District 7's tributes—Calla Mallow and Daniel Church—before the screen turns off. The lights flash on, I turn towards the audience...

But before I can start talking, there's static rushing in my ear.

_District 8 will be coming up very shortly, _the man from the control center says. _Make whatever you have to say quick. _

I feel like groaning, but I stop myself, instead rolling my eyes. _Of course_ that wretched escort made District 7 take forever. I seriously detest her.

"Fortunately for us, District 8 will be starting really soon!" I tell the audience, and they hoot in response. "I know, I know. Awesome, right? But we still need to take a few minutes to discuss District 7! So, I'll be letting Heloise lead this discussion!"

Once again, all of the attention diverts from me to our darling Victor. Heloise looks up from her shoes, a shy smile on her face once again. I expect her to not say anything...so I'm really surprised when her mouth opens to comment.

"Calla might not be the most interesting tribute so far, but it's really admirable that she could walk onstage without a single tear. She hid her emotions and represented her district splendidly..." Heloise lets out a breath of air, her eyes wet and her cheeks flushed. "And that must've been his younger brother Daniel volunteered for. I don't know why his younger brother was trying to volunteer, or why Daniel ended up doing it instead...but..." She inhales, composing herself, and then continues talking one last time. "I wish them a..._Happy_...Hunger Games."

The audience cheers for Heloise, thinking her emotional exchange was full of love. But I know it's not. Working with both tributes and Victors, I've become accustomed to their mindset.

They don't like the Hunger Games.

They despise the Hunger Games.

Heloise's words were her trying to get across the fact that she sincerely feels sorry for Daniel and Calla. Because they'll both be dead in the next few weeks. Twenty-three children will, actually.

I smile, shushing the audience so I can talk. "Riveting words from our _darling_ Victor," I say. "But unfortunately, that's all we have time to hear, because District 8 will be starting soon! Let's watch!"

The audience members all start cheering and clapping again. They do that a lot, actually. I shrug, turning around in my seat and looking towards the screen. District 7 wasn't too bad, thankfully, and hopefully District 8 will be adequate, too.

I'm not asking for much, y'know? I just want tough kids to be reaped, so that the Games will have more fighting and bloodshed rather than hugging and tears. Is that so wrong?

The screen flashes on, and District 8's Justice Building is on full display. The Capitol escort is talking about something uninteresting, so I tune her out, instead focusing my attention on the children below. The boys and girls, just like the children before, are looking scared and depressed. District 8 is one of many districts that haven't yet gained a Victor, and I seriously doubt they'll be getting one anytime soon. Not when tributes from District 2 are in the Arena raising hell.

"Anyway, I think I've done enough talking!" Says the escort, a rather chubby lady with purple eyes. She's a regular in District 8, and I can tell from the way that the children glare at her that she's not very liked. "I know you're all just as anxious as I am to see this year's tributes, so I'll start already. But let me tell you, whoever gets reaped will _love_ the food."

I snort, while the members of the audience chuckle. _Fatass_.

"I'll start with the girl tribute, okay? Okay." Without waiting for a response—she knows full well that they'll never really respond to her—she walks over to the female bowl. She's pretty slow, but not as slow as the escort from District 7.

Quickly grabbing one small slip, one dead child, she walks back over to the microphone and reads the name.

"Kaya Vause!" She calls out, smiling. "As I said before, you'll _love_ the food!"

The females—somewhere in the middle—start to drift away, leaving a red-headed girl standing all by herself. Just like the female tributes before her, Kaya's face is the epitome of shocked. She steps out into the aisle, slowly, and starts walking. It takes her a long time to make it to the stage—but when she does, there's a sad yet accepting look in her eyes.

Kaya has red hair, like I said before, and pale skin. Her cheeks, however, are they're tinted pink. Her blue eyes have a wide look to them; she's actually a really pretty girl. Kaya is a bit short, though—thin, too, with long legs and skinny hands. If she doesn't break down and cry, I predict good sponsors in her future.

The escort looks her up and down. "Yep, you definitely need some food in you, girl."

Kaya doesn't give the lady a _smidgen_ of her attention. There's just silence as she stares out into the crowd, her face melancholic and her eyes a bit glossy. Sometimes, I feel sad for these tributes. They're leaving their homes, their families, their entire _life_ behind.

But then I think of the rebellion, and that thought quickly goes out the window. They brought this upon themselves; they deserve this.

Not at all offended by Kaya's silent treatment, the Capitol escort goes over to the male bowl. Grabbing one, she walks back over to the microphone and reads the name aloud: "Zander Engres!"

The boys—a bit more in the back, thankfully—all back away, leaving a red-headed boy standing by himself. Zander emulates Kaya's first expression, completely in shock. It's understandable, really. He's just been condemned to a horribly painful death, so of course he's shocked. Still, it's not a strong look—and the more he just stands there gaping, the more his could-be sponsors drift away.

After a while, the Peacekeepers grab him and drag him to the stage. He's stopped gaping, thankfully, but his eyes are widened in a totally astonished way. Zander is a tall boy with gangly, long arms. He has pale skin and light brown eyes that...look too big for his flat face, actually. Speaking of his face, there are multiple cuts around his eyes and mouth, for some odd reason. Yeah, if we were going by looks, I don't think I'd sponsor him...

The escort grabs Zander and Kaya's arms, holding them up—as if they really have a chance for victory.

"District 8, your tributes!"

The camera focuses on Kaya Vause, her eyes closed, and Zander Engres, his eyes wide. It stays on them for a bit more before it clicks off. The lights turn back on, and I spin around, smiling my blinding smile.

"Well, that was really exciting, no?" I ask the audience members, and they all voice their opinions on the tributes of District 8. "Yes, yes—I liked them, too. Both of them seem like strong competitors to me! But first, let's ask our two Victors what they think." I turn towards Arsen. "You first."

He smirks. "I guess I can see them getting far. District 2 would bend them like two little twigs, but still, they look strong enough."

I laugh. "You may be a Victor now, Arsen, but at least you haven't forgotten your roots!"

The audience laughs along with me, and the male Victor chuckles. "Well..." He shrugs. "I'm just stating the facts. Everyone knows that District 2 are always the best tributes in the Games."

I nod, still laughing. "I guess that's true! But Heloise, what do you think? Can District 8 compare to District 2?"

"...What?" Heloise looks up from her shoes, a hard look matching her watery eyes—and I can just _tell_ she's about to say something really _bad_. "These children... You're betting on them, _comparing_ them like..."

_Careful, _I want to tell her, frowning to get the point across. _Say anything more, and you'll find poison in your food. Just nod your head and act stupid, Heloise! Take notes from District 1 if you have to!_

"...I'm sorry." She looks back down, clenching her hands. "Both districts have strong, good-looking tributes. I wish them both the best of luck."

There's silence for a good few seconds...before I break it, grinning.

"Well, there you have it! Amazing words from Arsen Mackenzie and Heloise Jones, our two Victors from District 2!" I spin around in my chair, giggling like a District 1 fool. But the audience loves that, so I suck up my pride and do it. "Sadly, they'll both have to go now—but stay tuned, District's 9 through 12 will be commentated by me, the _amazing_ Aeliana Devrine, and Sylvan Barnes, District 7's _fierce_ Victor."

The audience members make sad noises at Arsen and Heloise's departure, but they start to perk up when the next Victor is mentioned. It's funny, really, how much these people love their Victors. Sylvan is a huge nuisance, but I just need to put up with him for a little while. He's not even the worst part, though; these last four districts bore me to absolute _death_. They're so poor and weak that I doubt they'll _ever_ get a Victor—but it's my job, so I'll do it to the best of my abilities.

Still, I'm very curious about this year's tributes so far. Michael and Alexandra from District 5, Ceres and Breno from District 6, Daniel and Calla from District 7, and Kaya and Zander from District 8. All eight of these children interest me in one way or another.

I smirk, holding back a laugh. All eight of these children could end up dead, too. Isn't that funny?

I think it it.

I think it's _hilarious_.

* * *

><p><strong>Ah, another chapter out! Sorry for the delay, but I've been on a vacation of sorts, and I was unable to update. So...yeah. :|<strong>

**Thanks a lot for the many reviews, though! All of them were so nice! I'll really try to keep writing to the best of my abilities, okay? Okay! ^_^**

**Still, this chapter was torture to write. I don't even know why, but I don't like it, and it was just **_**hard**_**. I think I finally understand why everyone seems to hate writing reaping chapters...**

**Anyway, I'm talking a lot, aren't I? Yeah. Umm...tell me in the reviews which reaping was your favorite, and even your least favorite. And tell me what you think of District 2's two Victors.**

**Hopefully I have the next chapter out pretty quickly.**

**And hopefully it's easier to write than this chapter, because ugh, I just can't...**

**^_^||| Bye-bye!**


	5. Reapings Part Three

**Reapings Part Three**

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><p><strong>A Cannon in the Wind;<strong>

_The 5th Hunger Games_

* * *

><p><strong>Sylvan Barnes, Victor of the 3rd Hunger Games<strong>

Quintavious, my bumbling idiot of a stylist, gives me a look that'd shatter glass.

"Do you not understand how important this is?" He asks me. For once, he's not taking my shit, and he's actually really angry. "Just please, for once in your life, do what I tell you to do!"

I scowl at that. I hate being told what to do, especially from any of these Capitol bastards.

"I'm _not_ one of your tributes anymore, and I'm definitely not a child—so I _don't_ have to do what you say." I puff out my chest, trying to intimidate my stylist just like how I intimidated the other tributes during my Games. Even though I was just fifteen-years-old, I had the body of an eighteen-year-old, and that was more than enough to tell the others not to mess with me.

And when the tributes from District 1 and 2 _did_ try to mess with me? I did the smartest, most sensible thing anyone in my situation would do.

I fought.

I _killed_.

I killed the District 1 duo—those idiots actually thought, just because they were allied with two powerhouses, that they stood a chance—and just managed to escape the tributes of District 2 before they could cut off my head. They found me again, during the finale—and I fought once again. I wasn't going to go down like the District 3 boy from last year, screaming and crying and _not fighting back_.

All my life, I've had to fight back. From Peacekeepers, from bullies, even from my own damn _parents_. If I was going to die, it'd be with my axe clenched tightly in my hands, and their blood spilled across the ground.

Luckily, the girl from District 2 slipped and stabbed herself in the chest with her own knife. And the boy from District 2, while he had definitely trained a bit before the Games, was no match for me by himself. I had been using an axe to cut down trees all my life.

Cutting down lives was just as easy. It was just a lot more aggravating.

"_Please_, Sylvan!" Quintavious pleads, the anger wiping off his face when he realizes that I won't be backing down. "President Kronin would surely kill me if I had you going out like..._that_!" He gestures towards my wrinkled t-shirt, my torn jacket, and my dirty jeans.

I cross my arms, shaking my head. "Do you seriously think I care what'd happen to you? You can shove those fancy clothes right up your—"

"_Please!_"

Somebody else would probably relent to his pleading and begging. After all, if I seriously went out onstage in these "district clothes," President Jackass really _would_ kill my idiotic stylist.

But I don't care. I seriously do not care. And why should I? These people, these _monsters _threw me in a jungle to literally fight for my life. There's nothing anyone could do that'd top the Hunger Games when it comes to sick, evil pleasures.

_I won, though. _

_I fought for my life, just like they wanted. _

Smirking at Quintavious, I look up at the ceiling in mock-thought. He smiles a hopeful smile, his rainbow colored eyes sparkling—but then I shake my head, disagreeing once again.

_It's time I make them fight for theirs, in one way or another._

* * *

><p><strong>Aeliana Devrine, Hunger Games Interviewer  Announcer**

Almost done.

We're almost done.

_I'm_ almost done.

I just need to put up with four more districts. After that, I'm free to spend the rest of my day at reaping parties or whatever. I just need to put up with eight more soon-to-be dead teenagers; I just need to put up with that irritating District 7 Victor; I just need to fake a few more smiles, a few more laughs and giggles, and I'll be done.

I will be done.

Reaping Day is seriously annoying—when you're the one working, that is. What I wouldn't give to pop open a bottle of champagne right now...

_Commercials will be over soon. Get ready, Ms. Devrine, _says the control center man. I groan, my hands covering my face. The Hunger Games are _exhausting_.

Why can't we just round them all up and watch them kill each other? It'd be quicker, and still entertaining, and I'd have to work less.

Why do we have to pretty them up and have freaking _parades_ for them? I mean, sure, I guess they deserve something for their sacrifice...but they'll still be dead in the next week, so I hardly see the point.

And why do I have to freaking _interview_ them? Nothing they say will keep them alive. Most of the time, all they're doing is trying their hardest to curse me and everyone in the freaking Capitol...

Suddenly, the Capitol Anthem blares. I look up, immediately grinning my sparkling grin and waving at the audience and cameras both. It's tiring, having to keep up this bubbly persona—but I'm rich, I'm famous, I'm living the life I've always wanted. If I have to commentate on doomed children, then I'll do it with a pretty smile on my pretty face.

Sure, I'll bitch about it later, but whatever.

"That was a _long_ break!" I say to the members of the audience. They all agree in one way or another, either by nodding their heads or clapping or _whatever_ they feel the need to do. "But don't worry, because you know what? District 9 will be starting their reapings shortly, and I can tell that you're all ready to see them even more than _I'm_ ready to see them!"

I'm actually ready to go home and snuggle up in my bed, but I guess that's beside the point.

"So without further ado, let's meet the wonderful tributes of District 9!" I spin around in my chair...and immediately frown when the lights shut off. I'm worried that if I continue smiling like a District 1 idiot, my face will be stuck like that forever. And that'd be torturous, because a bitchy person like me being forced to smile forever is a bomb just waiting to blow.

The screen flashes on, revealing District 9 within them. The cameras close in on the fields of grain, blowing in the wind. There's plenty of factories, too, apparently for processing the grain. In the crowds are a surplus of children—more blond than anything else, I notice—and Peacekeepers surrounding them. Outside the Peacekeepers are the adults, all of them with worried expressions on their faces. Hell, some of them look even sadder than the children!

"...Thank you, District 9," the mayor says after finishing the treaty. "Please give a warm welcome for our escort, coming all the way from the Capitol."

There's no warm welcome—well, unless being warm means to glare up at the lady. The Capitol escort walks up to the podium, smiling, showing no concern for the hate being thrown her way. I like her, because she understands how annoying these disrespectful children can be, and she doesn't let them take control.

"Happy Hunger Games!" She begins. "And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor. As you all know, I always pick the ladies first—but not this time. You see, I've come to the conclusion that we keep losing because of this. _So_, I'm going to reap the male tribute first. Are there any questions before I start?"

There's silence in District 9, the boys looking even more worried than the girls now. I snort at that. It's very doubtful that District 9 has never produced a Victor _just_ because of which tribute gets reaped first. It's more than that—like how their tributes are hardly ever aggressive, or how living in that poor District can never prepare them for the Hunger Games.

Just like the districts after this one, the Hunger Games are a death penalty.

"No questions? Great! Then I'll start." The escort sashays over to the male bowl, looking every bit pleased with herself. She slips a hand in and takes a slip out, way faster than the ones before her. And just like that, there's one person she's condemned to death. Opening the slip as she simultaneously walks back to the microphone, she starts reading. "Terrance Vallier!"

There's a pause—but isn't there _always?_ The crowd of boys split open, revealing a sixteen-year-old boy with light brown hair. For a split second, his brown eyes are widened in disbelief—but just as quickly, they morph into an expression of pure indifference. I almost laugh at that. Look at him, trying to act tough for the cameras. Thankfully, though, Terrance isn't young, nor does he look like the type to break down into tears.

We'll see where that'll take him.

Terrance walks down the aisle and climbs the steps in an almost robotic manner. He's playing the strong act well, I'll give him that. But being from District 9, it's only a matter of time before his blood is on the ground and his picture in the sky. And yet, I don't see him as a bloodbath…

But I could be wrong. Surprising, but true.

"Well, I think I was right in my decision to pick the boys first! You're a strong-looking young man," the escort compliments, a big grin on her face. Terrance doesn't say anything to her, but at least he nods.

Her words are sincere, though. While not the biggest, he has mild muscles along his arms and legs. And he's pretty tall—well, for a sixteen-year-old. Add in the fact that he's not an ugly child, and I can see a few sponsors sponsoring him. He'll have to really impress me, though, because there's not much else interesting about him.

"Okay then, I better hurry and reap the girl before this good luck runs out!" The Capitol escort laughs, rushing over to the female bowl. Once again, tensions rise to an unimaginable level as she plucks a white slip out. A white slipped with a name written, a dead child written. She hurries back over to the microphone, opening the card before she can even make back. "Toren Ingalls! Come on up!"

There's silence. But yeah, that's expected. Nobody was talking anyway.

Yet, this silence is different. This silence is like a pause that's taking too long to end. There's nobody screaming, or crying, or _anything_! The females haven't even moved away from the reaped—

Suddenly, the camera latches on to movement, bringing my thoughts to a halt. The girls in the fifteen-year-old section start backing up, leaving two young girls in the middle. One of them has tears in her eyes, while the brown-haired one is just...staring at the stage, expressionless. What's up with _that?_

"Toren Ingalls? Is that you?" The escort coos, motioning for one of them to come up. "Don't be shy. We'll treat you really nice in the Capitol."

The teary-eyed girl starts to shake—and by now, I'm almost positive she's the one who's gotten reaped. But the other girl is still staring, albeit the worry is starting to show through the cracks. The Capitol escort calls for Toren once more—and that's when the Peacekeepers seemingly have enough with the stalling. They head towards them, and the teary-eyed girl whispers something in the brown-haired girl's ear.

Shockingly, the brown-haired girl nods, and she starts towards the stage. I blink, confused. So is _she_ Toren? The poor girl is shaking, I can see that much, but her indifferent expression is unbothered. The only thing close to real fear on her face is her wide, green eyes. As she climbs the steps and goes towards her escort and District Partner, the camera zooms in.

Toren's a pretty girl, I'll give her that much. She's thin, though, and her face is _full_ of freckles. Her eyes are a beautiful shade of green that's pretty uncommon for District folk; I find myself really liking them, and I can tell the others in the audience love them also. Here in the Capitol, we can have any eye color we want—but to be born like that puts you on a level above the rest.

Toren's short stature won't help during the Games, though. Her hair is a dark brown, long and wavy and _thick_. Pretty messy, too. Just like her District Partner, she'll also have to really impress us if she wants decent sponsors.

The screen flashes off and the lights turn on. I spin around in my chair, preparing to see Sylvan sitting in the one besides me—but nothing can prepare me for what I actually see.

Sylvan Barnes, Victor of the 3rd annual Hunger Games, is dressed horribly. His white t-shirt is wrinkled beyond belief, with dark stains _everywhere_. His jacket is torn up and old, a nasty smell emanating from it. His pants are dirty, with food and dirt stains on them. And don't even get me started on his _hair_! Sylvan looks like a homeless _rat_.

The Capitol audience gasp when they see him. I don't know if it's because he just came out of nowhere or because of his appearance...but I'm leaning towards the latter.

Sylvan smirks at my speechless expression. "Well hello, Aeliana. Nice hair." I can't stop myself from grimacing. His breath is like a vortex. A disgusting, _rancid_ vortex.

"Wh-Why thank you, Sylvan," I say, forcing a smile. How am I supposed to share a stage with this bum?! "You... How are you?"

"Hmm... Well, I don't really want to be here...but I guess that's the price of living, huh?" He laughs a bitter, rebellious laugh—and the audience, ignorant to his word's true meaning, chuckle along with him.

I don't know what else to do, so I fake a laugh as well. "How funny," I say, swiping a piece of hair out of my eyes. "But enough with the formalities. Tell me, what do you think of District 9's tributes? I'm sure the audience is dying to—"

"Yeah, yeah, they're _dying_ to know. You've been saying the exact same thing for four years." Sylvan laughs again, and so does the audience. I furrow my brows, holding in my anger at being interrupted _and_ humiliated. "But where should I begin? That Terrance kid might do good, and yet, he might not. You can never really tell with these outer districts, because they don't usually have much skill and talent—but they can surprise you once in a while! He's not crying, though, so that must be a good sign for you people."

I don't miss the way he says that. _You people._ He says it with derisiveness, with anger, with disgust.

"That Toren girl, though, looks as normal as they come." Sylvan laughs, loudly, and the audience laugh along with him. I force a chuckle, trying my hardest to look casual. Usually, we don't make fun of our tributes. I may give a jab or two to the tributes from District 1, but still, it's nothing really serious. I know when to stop.

I doubt Sylvan does.

"Did you see her face, though?" He continues. "She didn't know _how_ to look! I bet she just wanted to curl up and cry!" Sylvan's still laughing, and the audience's laughter is getting louder. I don't know why, but I feel irked at the fact he's making fun of this poor girl. I mean, I don't particularly care for her…

But still. If anyone's going to make fun of these tributes on live television, it's going to be _me_. Not this district rat.

"Toren _didn't_ cry, though, nor were their tears in her eyes," I say, defending the girl. I don't know exactly why, but I am. I just have to. "She was strong, and I have high hopes for her. She might even outlast _your_ tributes!"

He shuts up at that, and the audience quiets down as well. After a moment of silence, however, Sylvan chuckles again.

"Hell, she probably will," he responds, leaning back against his seat. "I don't particularly care. As far as I'm concerned, nobody really wins these Games in the first place."

I furrow my brows; what a stupidly rebellious thing to say. The members of the audience, however, don't seem to get his words. They just stare and blink, a couple of whispers being thrown.

"Anyway, isn't it about time for District 10? I'm bored with Terrance and Toren." He then yawns, emphasizing the point.

The audience gets a little humor out of that, while I prevent myself from rolling my eyes. I feel sorry for these last few tributes. Chances are, Sylvan isn't going to let them get away without being humiliated in one way or another.

Maybe, for once, I'll try to defend them.

_District 10 will be airing soon, _I hear in my ear. _Get ready. _

I smile at Sylvan, my teeth showing. "Ah, you're right! Well, let's watch, shall we?"

I spin around in my chair, glaring daggers at District 7's annoying Victor when the lights shut off. He sees my glare and gives me a mocking smirk in return. I roll my eyes. _Stupid bastard._

The screen turns on—and District 10's vast farmlands are showed, animals and all. It's almost peaceful, in a way. Even though they're treated like slaves, forced to butcher animals and give us meat, at least they aren't living in the dusty dumps of District 12. They should at least be grateful for that, right?

The screen flickers over to the Town Square, the higher-ups on the stage and the children herded into sections below. The adults on the outskirt are looking just as worried as the ones from District 9, if not more. District 10 hasn't produced a Victor because, just like the other poor districts, they aren't prepared in the slightest. It's sad when you seriously think about it.

But then I think of the rebellion, and I don't care much anymore.

It's their fault.

"Welcome, District 10, to this year's annual reaping!" The Capitol escort exclaims. He's a chubby man, with swirling black tattoos covering his arms and legs. "I'll be reaping the female first, as that's the norm. Let's hope that she's a bit better than the girl from last year, right?"

He laughs all the way to the female bowl, snorting like a pig. The district citizens, however, stay deathly quiet. Last year, a sweet twelve-year-old girl was reaped. Even I fell in love with her during her time here. Unfortunately, she was the first death of the year, killed by her own District Partner no less. Tensions in District 10 have been running rampant ever since, I've heard. And I believe it.

The escort plucks a slip out of the bowl, straight from the top. He walks back over to the podium, smiling a surprisingly warm smile.

And then he opens the paper.

"London Tienna!" He hollers, waving the slip in the air like it's going to make her come any faster. "Come up and take your place as tribute, dear!"

Immediately, a high-pitched scream comes from the front. I smile, almost wickedly. _The front. This should be interesting_. The camera catches the movement and zooms in, focusing on a girl with long blonde hair and tan skin. She reaches for a few other girls, almost in desperation—and that's when the Peacekeepers come to intervene. The reaped girl quickly hugs her three friends, but the Peacekeepers roughly grab her by the arm and drag her screaming form into the aisle.

But then, London surprises me. She swings out a fist, catching a Peacekeeper by surprise and hitting him square in the face. I gasp in astonishment, and so does the audience members behind me. Because of the Peacekeeper's mask, I doubt the hit hurt—but the punch did it's job, because she slips out of their hold during the confusion and makes a run for the gate.

For some reason, I'm on the edge of my seat. I know London's not going to escape—_nobody_ escapes—but still, this is the best action that's happened so far during these monotonous reapings. And for her to catch a trained soldier in the face like that, she _must_ be a competitor—even if she doesn't realize it herself.

London makes it out of the cameras' view for a few seconds...but the Peacekeepers quickly bring her back to the Square, screaming and kicking. They drag her down the aisle and throw her onto the stage, as rough as possible. I'm expecting her to get up and make another break for it, but she doesn't. Instead, she just sits there, her eyes wide and afraid.

...Even though she just made a fool of herself, she's a _very_ pretty girl, with sea green eyes and freckles that pop out even more than those other two tributes. For some reason, though, they don't disgust me as much as the others. It's almost as if those freckles are _meant_ for her. Still, she's a beauty, and I'm almost positive she made an unforgettable first impression. Sponsors will definitely be coming her way.

"Well, that was an entertaining display," says the escort. He smiles at London, who doesn't even begin to return it. She's too busy staring out into the crowd, her green eyes misty.

Shrugging, the male escort walks over to the male bowl and grabs a slip from deep inside.

"And the male tribute representing District 10 this year will be…" He walks back over to the podium, opening the slip and reading the name with furrowed brows. "Ricky Laris! And don't try to run away like London, sir!"

There's commotion, up in the front. I smile again, thanking my lucky stars that District 10 has two older tributes. The camera pans down into the crowd and catches two boys standing by themselves, the others having already backed away. The shorter boy blinks, his mouth slightly agape—and that's when the taller one pulls him into a swift hug. The shorter boy—Ricky, I presume—is gently shoved into the aisle, his eyes widened in disbelief.

_He's about to freak out_, I think, but that's not the case at all.

Ricky shoves his hands into his pockets and starts walking to the stage, his head down. When he gets onstage, however, he looks up momentarily, giving the cameras the chance to zoom in and inspect him. Ricky's actually a pretty cute-looking guy, with his round features and his dark brown eyes. He has messy black hair, and surprisingly, there's a bit of muscle on his arms. He's short for his age, though, and that won't work out for him during the Games. We'll see where that takes him…

"District 10," says the escort, grinning right at the cameras. "I present to you, your tributes!"

The screen flashes off, and the lights flash on. I spin around in my chair, planting a giant smile on my face. I'm faking, of course, but the crowd cheers and hoots anyway when they see my pearly whites. I'm a _star_. And whatever I do, the people will _love _it.

"That was _really_ enjoyable to see, wasn't it?" I ask the crowd, nodding at their many responses. "Maybe District 10 is getting themselves a Victor this year, don't you think? I, for one, think London is a really attractive young lady - and don't even get me started on her punches!"

I laugh, and so does the audience. Sylvan, however, just stares at me, deadpanned. He isn't even going to _try_ and act nice for the cameras. I seriously wish he'd just randomly combust into flames.

"And don't forget about Ricky! I bet that boy's just trying to act mysterious for the cameras, am I right? When that gong sounds out in the Arena, he's going to be a serious killer. I can tell!"

The crowd voices their agreements or disagreements—it doesn't really matter which one. I'm just trying to pass the time without Sylvan saying something annoying. I _do_ think that London is going to be a real threat, though. With the way she struggled, she _can't_ be a helpless victim, right? Ricky, on the other hand…

"I think District 10 is going to do the same thing they always do. They'll die," Sylvan says, his face still emotionless. What got into _him?_ "How can you even tell that London and Ricky are competitors? First impressions are stupid to begin with, and there's nobody in Panem that can tell someone's strengths and weaknesses just by looking at them walking to a stage. Before you start talking, Aeliana, why don't you _think_ for once?"

If I had a pencil or a pen or _anything_ in my hands, it'd be turned to dust by now. That's how much these irritating Victors get on my nerves. I seriously want to pound this guy's face in...

_But_ I need to keep my cool.

If I were to brutally kill a Victor, I don't think that'd go over well with the rest of Panem—_especially_ not in District 7. They'd have riots for _weeks_. They love their lone Victor to death.

"You're so funny, Sylvan." I fake a laugh, twirling my hair to keep my hands preoccupied. They'd be wringing around his neck otherwise. "But seriously, first impressions are everything! I mean, what would you think if someone came to your district with a buff body and tattoos over his arm? You'd think he was a strong guy, right?"

He doesn't answer—and even if he did, it wouldn't be anything worthwhile. I turn away from Sylvan, blowing hair out of my eyes. He snorts, still not saying a word.

"Anyway, do you all agree that District 10 is going to get themselves a Victor this year?" I ask the crowd, and they all voice their opinions once again. Most of them agree, and quite a few are screaming London's name. Sylvan snorts again, a crooked smile playing in the corners of his lips.

"Not if District 7 can show them a thing or two." He chuckles, suddenly sitting up, his eyes shining in clear amusement. "I'm not trying to be a conceited bitch or anything—I think you and Arsen fill in that section perfectly—but District 7 isn't going to lose to a bunch of butchers. We might not have two or three Victors, but we're still better than the majority of them."

And with that heart-wrenching speech, he slumps back into his seat, a dirty expression on his dirty face. I hold back a scoff, instead rolling my eyes. He's _such_ a dumbass. Why has President Kronin not executed this guy by now?

Victor or not, he's constantly raising out again the Capitol. Why can't he just learn his place?

_District 11 is about to begin their Reapings, _the control center man informs me. _It's storming, though, and our cameras may not be able to pick up everything. Don't be surprised if broadcasting suddenly shuts off. _

I twitch. "If it's not one thing, it's another," I mumble under my breath, before smiling cheerfully at the audience. "Anyway, I have good news! The second-to-last Reapings are about to begin!"

They cheer in ecstasy; I can tell that they're getting bored with the Reapings, too. And considering that these last two districts are the worst of the worst, they don't have high hopes for something exciting.

I know I sure don't.

The lights turn off, and the big screen turns on. The first thing I hear is the rain pattering, drowning out the mayor's boring drawl. It really _is_ a storm in District 11. The skies are a depressing black, with lightning striking the earth at random times, sometimes illuminating the Square. District 11 is horribly overpopulated, with children having to squeeze into other sections. I can't even see the parents!

And none of them look happy. _Tortured_ is a better word.

Lightning strikes again, and this time thunder is added to the mix. The mayor finishes the treaty and heads back to his seat, while the Escort quickly bounces over to the podium. She's a middle-aged woman with long brown hair, cascading all the way to her shoes. She's getting horribly wet in this storm—and don't even get me started on her poor hair.

"I would like to make some acknowledgements before I begin," she starts, but another round of thunder cuts her off. "Eep! N-Never mind! I'll go reap the male tribute first!"

_Good choice_, I think, shaking my head in clear amusement. It's almost funny seeing how distressed she looks.

She quickly grabs a slip of paper from the male bowl, rushing back to the microphone afterwards. Before the rain can make the words unintelligible, she hurries and reads the name.

"Stag Browning!"

The Peacekeepers are on high alert, that much is clearly obvious. District 11 is almost as bad, if not worse, than District 7 when it comes to rebelling against us. Since it's storming, I don't put it past them to suddenly initiate a full-out fight.

But, surprisingly, they don't do anything. Well, except for the boys in the front. The rain makes it hard to see, but the eighteen-year-olds all back away, leaving a relatively strong-looking male by himself. He looks around, as if for help—but reality hits hard. He's going to be in the Hunger Games, and he's going to die. There's nothing that can save him.

"_No!_ Stag!" The camera has trouble finding the voice—but after a moment, they do. A small child with dark brown skin and bushy black hair is running down the aisle, pretty fast if I say so myself. He runs right past a shocked-looking Stag and climbs the steps to the stage, not even panting when he makes it next to the Escort.

She looks just as surprised as everyone else. "...Huh? Who are you?"

"Koda Samuels!" He exclaims in a loud voice—but comically, he shrinks under her stare. "I… I don't want Stag to go! I'll go instead!"

The Escort just continues to stare. "...So you volunteer?"

Koda nods, a little too many times for my tastes. His features are tight, and his eyes are scrunched in a way that's hiding yet displaying fear at the same time. Poor child.

…

Wait.

It takes me a moment to realize it—but when I do, it takes all the power imaginable to contain my outburst.

Koda Samuels, a twelve-year-old boy, just volunteered. He _volunteered_, and for an eighteen-year-old no less! An eighteen-year-old that he proclaimed was his brother, yet their last names are different, and they don't look similar at _all!_

_...What?!_

The camera goes back down to the crowd of boys. They don't know what to look like; some look sad, some look mad, and some just look down-right astonished. Stag is still staring at the stage, still staring at _Koda_, in complete and utter surprise.

For a minute, there's complete silence. The Capitol Escort is the one to get her bearings straight first, and she snaps everyone else out of their trance by hurrying over to the female bowl. The rain is coming down harder now, as if signalizing something horrible.

"And the female tribute representing District 11…" She takes out a slip and opens it, not even bothering to go back to the podium. "Meeko Brighton!"

"WHAT?!" Koda screams. The Escort whizzes around to stare at him again, and once again, her look makes him back down. But not completely. "Please not Meeko…"

In response to his question, a fourteen-year-old girl steps out of the crowd, not even waiting for them to isolate her. That's good, at least. District 11 is just _full_ of surprises this year. Meeko is rather thin, with soft peach skin and black hair chopped to her shoulders. Her eyes are a dark brown, and they look almost unbothered by the entire thing. I mean, she just got sentenced to death...yet she doesn't even look interested. Is there something wrong with her?

Meeko walks down the aisle and up the steps. She stands right next to her Capitol Escort, not a single word coming out of her mouth—and her loud District Partner, Koda, just gapes at her. Meeko glances at him, but that's all she does. Do they really know each other? I'm seriously confused…

"Here are your tributes, District 11!" The Escort announces, not looking too pleased. It may be the rain, or it may be her weird tributes. "Have a good evening!"

And with that, the broadcast shuts off. The lights start to turn on, and the audience is uncharastically silent when I turn around. They don't know what to think. And right now, I don't even know what to say.

_Fortunately_ for us, Sylvan opens his big fat mouth to comment.

"Koda is an idiot, probably even delusional, and he's going to die." The words come out of his mouth so bluntly, and even I can't help crack a smile. The audience burst into laughs and giggles, some of them even clapping. Sylvan gives them a weird look. "Seriously, it's not funny. I'm not trying to entertain you people. He's going to _die!_ Can't you people realize that?!"

That just makes them laugh even harder, and I smirk at his red complexion. He's such an idiot. Does he really think these fools can emotionally connect with him? They can't. _They're on an entirely different plane from you, Sylvan, and they'll always be._

There's nothing he can do—about _anything_. Even as Victor, he can't have everything he wants.

I giggle, bringing the attention me myself. "Koda is an interesting little guy, don't you think? I mean, he's District 11's very first volunteer—and he's only twelve! Do you all think little Koda's going to entertain us?"

The audience all voice their opinions. It's the best feeling in the world, having all eyes on you, having the entire world underneath your feet. It's an exhilarating feeling, and I just can't get enough of it.

"What about Meeko, though? Didn't she look strong up there?" I ask them.

Before they can really even answer, though, Sylvan pipes up. "_How?_ She didn't even do anything other than walk to a stage!"

"That's the point. Nobody had to force her or anything," I respond, grinning at his scowl. "And besides, she was really pretty. Koda is handsome, too. I really wish them the best of luck."

Sylvan snorts. "They don't need luck…"

He trails off, and we continue talking. Well, it's mainly me talking. He just pouts to himself, a glare frozen on his face. Serves him right. Anyone that speaks out so evilly against the Capitol should not be able to stay content and alive. It's not fair.

_It's almost time for the last Reapings, _says the control center man. For the first time in forever, an actually real smile slithers on my face. I'm almost done. Just two more children, and I'm done.

For some reason, it makes me all giddy inside. Cutting Sylvan off from whatever he was mumbling about, I inform the audience of District 12's Reaping, and the screams that reverberate throughout the place are insane. They're ready for this to be over, almost as much as I'm ready. Reaping Day is fun and everything, but after District 7, it just gets a bit...monotonous.

But whatever. None of that matters anymore.

Spinning around, I wait for the lights to turn off and the screen to turn on. And when they do, the first thing I'm met with is the pale, coal-faced children of District 12. Compared to us in the Capitol, these people don't even look human anymore. They're too scrawny, too dirty. I'd rather die than live in some shithole like that.

The mayor is a skinny man, with gray hairs sticking out despite his young face. He walks up to the podium and clears his throat, before opening his mouth to read the Treaty of Treason.

"War. Terrible war. Widows, orphans, a motherless child—this was the uprising that rot our land. Thirteen districts rebelled against the country that fed them, loved them, protected them. Brother turned on brother until nothing remained."

The districts turned on us. The districts tried to kill us. We gave them food, land—and in response, they initiated war. We just finished it, and we're making sure it never happens again.

"And then came the peace. Hard-fought, sorely won. Our people rose up from the ashes and a new era was born. But freedom has a cost. When the traitors were defeated, we swore as a nation, we would never know this treason again."

Never again will the districts rebel. Never again will they kill our citizens, kill out fathers. Never again will my mom have to cry; never again will _I_ have to cry.

"And so, it was decreed that each year, the various districts in Panem would offer up, in tribute, one young man and woman to fight to the death in a pageant of honor, courage, and sacrifice. The lone Victor, bathed in riches, would serve as a reminder of our generosity and our forgiveness. This is how we remember our past. This is how we safeguard our future."

The Hunger Games aren't evil. The _Capitol_ isn't evil. We're just righting a wrong. For us to let them off the hook so easily...

That'd be stupid. And us in the Capitol may be a lot of things, but we are _not_ stupid.

The mayor looks up from the sheet of paper in front of him, grimacing. "Please give a warm welcoming to your Escort, all the way from the Capitol."

There are no claps, none of any kind. Just like the districts before them, District 12 despises the Capitol and everyone associated with us. And that's why they will never, ever have a Victor. It'd go against the laws of physics or something.

The Capitol Escort is a tall man with straight black hair and a scary smile. His eyes are a dark red, contrasting against his hair. I've met this man before, just once. He's a dumbass pervert, and the sad thing is that he actually thinks that he looks good. Ha! I just feel sorry for the female tribute that has to be with him this year.

"Welcome, and Happy Hunger Games!" He recites. He says the exact same thing, year after year. "May the odds be _ever_ in your favor, District 12. This year, can we try and get someone strong to participate? It'd suck to lose _another_ two tributes, right?"

He's trying to get a reaction out of District 12's inhabitants—but nobody speaks, or moves, or does anything to indicate that they heard him. If they're one thing, it's that they're persistent in their pathetic rebellious attempts.

Smirking, the Escort says, "As usual, I'll be selecting one pretty little girl and one young man to compete in this year's Hunger Games. Ladies first." He turns away from the crowd and walks over to female bowl, tensions rising with every step. They may look all mean and hateful, but they're still just children, and children are easy to break.

The Escort grabs a single white slip, a single little life he's ruined, and walks back over to the podium. When he opens the slip, there's nobody talking, nobody even _breathing_.

And then, he says the name.

"Isabel Abriani!"

The cameras move almost immediately, focusing on the dark-skinned girl standing in the eighteen-year-olds section. The kids have moved away from her fast, almost _too_ fast—and now she's alone, chosen to compete in a pageant of life and death. Isabel stands there for a moment, her mouth slightly agape...and before I even know what's going on, silent tears are trailing down her eyes.

She's _crying_. This year, the tributes have been fairly accepting of their fate. I can't even remember the last time one of them _cried_. Was it Michael Riverbee?

Suddenly wiping her tears, Isabel walks out into the aisle and up the steps. Her head is lowered and she doesn't say a single word, even as the Escort asks her questions like "how do you you feel?" and "do you think you can win?". Isabel doesn't even turn to look at him—and I guess that pisses him off, because he walks over to the male bowl with a scowl.

"And the male tribute representing District 12 in the 5th annual Hunger Games is..." He digs his hand inside the bowl, sadistically enjoying the childrens' worried expressions. It _is_ kind of funny how nauseated they look, to be honest.

Suddenly, he takes his hand out. A crisp white slip sits in his hands, a triumphant smile on his face.

He takes his time going back to the podium. When the Escort _does_ get there, however, his hands move to open the paper _extremely_ fast. His crimson eyes scan the name written.

"Eion Daltier!"

There's silence, as usual, but this silence is more bearable. The males and females of District 12 all seem to display relief—because everyone except one unlucky boy and girl have been spared. It may make them sick, but I can't help to think how happy they may be—well, internally.

The cameras dive down to the crowd of boys, and I'm more than pleased to see the eighteen-year-old section break open, leaving two young men alone. The taller boy with dirty blond hair turns to stare at his friend, who's gaping at the stage with wide eyes. It's actually a pretty funny sight, and I'm not the only one to giggle at it.

But all the humor drains away when the blond boy pales, reality crashing down upon him. He's been selected to die. Before the Peacekeepers can come, Eion gently pushes his way to the aisle—and when he finally gets there, he trips and almost falls to the ground. I smirk at that; if he hadn't caught himself, his chances at getting any sponsors would have depleted immediately.

Turning a bright shade of red, Eion laughs a nervous, embarrassed laugh. A few more members of the Capitol audience laugh at him, while I roll my eyes. This guy can _seriously_ put a smile on someone's face, can't he?

Not wasting anymore time, Eion walks up the steps to the stage. He's not crying like his District Partner, thankfully, but he looks just as terrified. And why shouldn't he be? Being from District 12, his chances of coming out of that arena are miniscule.

While both tributes of District 12 are standing on the stage, the cameras take that time to zoom in. Isabel is actually a very pretty girl, and compared to the other residents of District 12, she stands out a lot. Her cocoa brown skin is a stark contrast to the pale-skinned miners residing there, and she doesn't look like she's starving either. Her skin is clear of any blemishes, and her hair is dark, long and wavy. If she wasn't noticeably holding back tears, I'd probably think she stood a chance. And that's saying something, coming from _me_.

Eion, in contrast to his District Partner, has pale skin and messy dark blond hair. What really draws me into his face are his eyebrows, which are thick and dark, set right over his light blue eyes. His lips are full and his nose is slightly larger than most. Oh, and just like a handful of tributes before him, he has freckles splashed across his face. He's not ugly at all...but I don't think he should focus on his looks to get sponsors. Being from District 12 and everything, he just can't help it, I guess.

Eion isn't scrawny like most boys in his district, however. While he's nothing at all to brag about, he's broad-shouldered, and there's a few small muscles on him from what I can see. He may actually have a chance, too!

"District 12," the Escort says, grabbing both Isabel and Eion's wrists and holding them up, like _champions_. "Your tributes." And then, the screen shuts off.

It takes me a moment to turn back to the audience. I don't know why, but at the sudden realisation that the Reapings are _done, _I… I…

I laugh. I burst into sudden laughter that probably looks crazy from an outside perspective, but I'm done!

_I'm done._

Sylvan gives me an irate look, while the audience is chuckling confusedly to themselves. I spin around a few times, acting more like a District 1 child than a full-blown Capitol celebrity.

But I don't care. I'm finished with the Reapings; I'm finished with these children—well, until I have to personally interview them...but whatever. Right now, I'm _done_. And that's all that matters to me.

"Well, those were all the Reapings, everyone!" I exclaim, relishing in the cheers of my people. I swipe a bit of hair out of my eyes, grinning like a fool. "I'm so, so, _so_ very excited for these Games! All of these tributes were just so interesting! I can't _wait_ to interview them!"

The Capitol Anthem starts to play, signalling that my time is almost up. I blow kisses at my fans, waving whenever I meet the eyes of one.

Toren and Terrance from District 9. Ricky and London from District 10. Meeko and Koda from District 11. And Eion and Isabel from District 12. Each and every one of these teenagers are going to have a defining moment here in the Capitol. I almost envy them.

But then, just like fifteen others, they'll be sent to the slaughterhouse. And us in the Capitol will cheer, and we will laugh, and we may even cry.

But no matter what happens, we will love every single _second_ of it. Like a tornado, our emotions may get thrown all over the place—but the end result will always be the same.

"Everyone, let's have a Happy Hunger Games!"

And for the tributes, may the odds be _ever_ in their favor.

* * *

><p><strong>Okay, sorry for the long wait time, everyone! I was really busy with a lot of different things, and Reapings are a pain in the ass. This chapter was better to write than the last, though, so yay! <strong>

**Once again, I'd like to thank you all for the support I'm receiving. I'd never have finished these dreadful Reapings if not for you guys, so thanks a lot!**

**Oh, and if you all can, I'd really like for you all to visit my buddy IronManRidingaNimbus and read his SYOT: "Under the Black Flag." He's just finished his Reaping chapters, like me, and it's really interesting to read! I'm sure you'll all enjoy it! **

**Ahem, anyway… What else was I supposed to put on here? I don't know. Uhhh… Oh yeah! The next chapter will be Train Rides to the Capitol, so be prepared for that! **

**Bye-bye! ^_^**


	6. Train Rides Part One

**Quick Note: I've decided to write out the numbers of the districts instead of just having the number. Yeah, it might seem small to you, but it's kinda annoying me xD**

* * *

><p><strong>Train Rides Part One<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>A Cannon in the Wind;<strong>

_The Fifth Hunger Games_

* * *

><p><strong>Vesper Quinn, 18;<strong>

**District One Male.**

I follow my escort Aquila into the sleek tribute train, and the door closes behind me, by itself. I almost want to sigh in relief at that; those Capitol people and their cameras were seriously trying my patience. Right before boarding the train, a surplus of Capitol reporters wanted to take pictures of Adeline and I, and they even had the _audacity_ to ask us questions.

_"How do you feel about representing your district, Adeline?"_

_"Are you proud, Vesper?" _

_"Do you two think you can win these Games?"_

Adeline tried to answer a few questions, though she kept stumbling over her words. Obviously she wasn't as pleased about this as she wanted them to think. Me, however—well, I ignored every single word they said to me. I _hate_ these supercilious Capitolites, and I'm _not_ going to put on a façade for them.

I'm not like the rest of my stuck-up district.

"Well, here you have it!" Aquila exclaims, motioning for us to walk deeper into the train. Adeline smiles, almost shyly, and she quickens her step. I follow behind, but at a much more slower pace.

After a few seconds, we make it to the kitchen—and even though I'm not surprised, considering it's the _Capitol_ we're talking about, it does shock me a bit. The train has thick, deep carpets all around, with chairs made of velvet and even a bit of gold lining. The table is set with a lot of highly breakable glassware, filled with drinks of many different colors. There's unique-looking plates of food plastered around the area, too; it looks more like _art_ than nourishment.

Our Escort sees the looks of astonishment on our faces and smiles.

"I know, I know. Gorgeous, right?" She giggles, pointing down the hallway. "You each have your own room, obviously, and the drawers are filled with dozens and dozens of different clothes to wear. You also have a private bathroom, so I suggest refreshing a bit before lunch."

"Lunch?" I question incredulously. "With all of this food here?" Considering my housing predicament, I hardly ever have enough to eat. Even in Panem's richest district, I never go to bed full. I eat what I can, and then save the rest for a rainy day—which, for me, is every day.

And she's telling me that the Capitol can leave this food out, just waiting to be devoured, and _then_ have more for lunch?

"What? This stuff here?" She looks behind herself, at the plates and plates of colorful entrees. And then, annoyingly, she laughs. "Oh sweetie, this here is just the snacks—which, since we're on the subject, I advise not eating. Wouldn't want to ruin your little appetite."

I blink, before scowling. Her patronizing tone is seriously pushing on my nerves.

"What about our mentor?" Adeline asks, suddenly speaking up. Her voice is soft, yet strong—like she's trying to hide the softness. "I didn't see Jewell up onstage during the Reapings."

That's true, she wasn't there this year. I don't care much about District One's lone Victor, but it'd be really unfortunate if she just up and died. It happens.

Death happens all the time, actually.

"Don't worry, your mentor is in the Capitol. All of the Victors were summoned for an interview or something, but you'll get to meet her soon!"

"Oh." Adeline looks down, a small smile on her face. "Thank you."

Raising a brow, I stare at my District Partner, sizing her up. If I'm going to come back to my district of idiots, she'll have to die; I need to see if she's going to be a problem in the future.

And right now, I don't see one. Adeline looks up and smiles at me, another one of her shy little smiles. Does she expect me to smile back? In a week, we'll have to kill each other. There's absolutely nothing to smile about. She's stupid if she thinks so.

"I'll leave you two to your business then," Aquila says. I turn away from my District Partner, meeting my Escort's pink eyes. She smiles, creepily. "If you need _anything_, Vesper, all you have to do is come and ask."

She reaches her hand out to touch my arm—but I wrench it away, scowling at the woman in disgust. Who does she think she is?!

"Do _not_ touch me," I hiss, glaring daggers. The older lady shrinks under my stare. "Don't you _ever_ touch me."

Adeline looks shocked, while Aquila looks on the verge of shitting herself. "E-Excuse me? What's wrong, dear?"

I've been holding it in for a while—but I can't, not anymore. Whenever I look at this lady, I think of my mother, I think of my father. I think of how my entire life turned upside-down, all because of her, all because of _them_. They made life not worth living anymore.

"I _hate_ you. I hate you, and I hate this situation, and I hate everyone in the motherfucking Capitol! And I don't want any of you to touch me!" Before I do something I'll later regret, I storm away from the two females.

I open a door located in the hallway, and I'm thankful to see that it's a room. The bed is a big one, maybe a queen-size, and the covers are a royal blue. There's another door in the room, most likely the bathroom. I think of going in there and taking a shower to calm my nerves...but no, not right now. I just need to lie down, get my emotions together.

I close and lock the door behind me—and before I know it, I'm lying on the bed, my head resting on the most comfortable pillow I've ever felt.

It sickens me.

The food, the luxury, the Hunger Games. All of it makes me sick to my stomach, because _they're_ the ones who own it all. They can kill whoever they want, break families apart—and they have the _gall_ to take children away from their family and force them to fight to the death?

It's so pointless.

All of this, even life itself, is so pointless.

_But now, you have an opportunity, _I tell myself, shutting my eyes. _You can finally make your life better. Even though it's the Hunger Games, even though it's beyond idiotic, you can do it. _

I can do it.

I can win the Hunger Games; I can create a better life for myself.

I have absolutely nothing to lose.

* * *

><p><strong>Echo Woods, 17;<strong>

**District Two Female.**

This wasn't supposed to happen.

I rub my fingers over my token—Reyna's necklace, the one she never takes off. I don't know why she gave it to me—I'll be back in a month, _if_ that—but it _does_ help calm my nerves. It's warmed with her body heat, and it smells just like her. I guess, if I had to take something, this would be my best bet.

I didn't want to take anything to the Capitol with me, though, because I don't _want_ to partake in the Hunger Games.

My life was carefully planned out; I was supposed to continue my training, become a Peacekeeper after I turned eighteen, and live the rest of my life contentedly with Reyna. The Hunger Games weren't even something I bothered myself with, because what were the odds of me seriously being reaped?

Big enough, apparently.

I mean, I'm not _scared_. Definitely not scared. The Capitol is a bit more lenient towards District Two; they won't send Mutts after me, or lure me into a trap, or do _anything_. As long as I can kill for them—and I _can_ kill for them—they'll leave me be.

And honestly, that's all I have to worry about. The other tributes can't even begin to compare to me, so I won't have to worry about them. Even though I haven't seen them yet, I know.

Sighing, I scowl at the foreign pastry in front of me. Even though I'm not going to die, it's irritating that I have to do this in the first place. I'm not against the Capitol—it isn't their fault I'm here, it's the rebels'—nor am I even against the Hunger Games. Us in District Two, we don't usually worry about things like that, because we'll always have an advantage should something unexpected occurs.

And true to my words, something unexpected did happen. I was reaped—but I'm prepared, I'm more prepared than anyone right now. I can do this; I _am_ _going_ to do this.

"...One to two...no more holes...that's true..."

"_What_ are you mumbling about?" I snap at Kostos, my stupid District Partner. Ever since we boarded the train, he's been mumbling strange things to himself. He's also a part of the reason why I'm so irate. "I'm thinking right now, so shut up."

I know I'm probably being too harsh, but right now, I'm too irritated to care. And besides, what's the point of being cordial to him anyway? When I go back home, he'll be dead. There's just no point.

Surprisingly, though, Kostos just looks up and smiles at me. "Sorry," he says. His voice is higher than most boys I know. Has he not gone through puberty or something?

I look away from him, back to the un-eaten food item in front of me. There's no reason for me to talk to him at all, actually. I mean, usually the pair from District Two ally together...but I just don't know about that this year. If he's going to get the satisfaction of allying with me, then he needs to show me some promise. No way will I be carrying dead weight around throughout my time in the Arena.

Not that I need any allies. I'm better off being alone in the first place.

"_So_," Kostos begins, stretching the word out. I look back up at him, frowning. What does he want now? "You're that mean lesbian girl, right?"

The words take me by surprise. "Huh?!"

"Yeah, I think I've heard about you. You and that other girl go out—isn't her name Rain or something?"

"_Reyna_," I correct, almost spitting the name out. I have a reason to be mad, don't I? I've been reaped for the Hunger Games, nobody decided to volunteer for me, and now this boy I've never seen before is talking as if we're long-lost siblings. "Excuse me for asking, but how in the hell do you know any of this about me?"

Kostos grins. "Girls talk. I listen. And sometimes, I even remember things."

"Right." Rolling my eyes, I get up from my seat. This guy's going to really get on my nerves, I can tell. My bitchy attitude isn't driving him away like it's supposed to.

Before I can go off to my room or something, though, Kostos moves, faster than I expect from someone like him. I flinch—and he uses that small moment of weakness to press me against the wall, surprisingly gentle. His face is literally inches away, his blue eyes staring straight into mine.

"Why're you leaving so early? What's the rush?" He asks—and the only reason I'm not pummeling this guy to the ground is because I'm so shocked he's doing this in the first place. He seemed a little on the sweet side, if you catch my drift. "I know you're not into guys, but dangerous experiences are known to change people. Why not get to know each other a bit before we get to the Capitol?"

_Is he suggesting—? _I heat up, my shocked expression turning into a scowl. Before I realize what I'm doing myself, I grab his arm and twist, shoving the perv off of me. He hits the wall opposite to mine, a pained smile on his face.

"So you can fight," he says, chuckling. That big grin of his comes back, and he scratches the back of his head.

"Don't laugh!" I snap, trying—_and failing_—to contain my rage. "How _dare_ you suggest something like that?! I have a _girlfriend!_ I _love_ her! You—! I'd _never_—!"

My anger just makes him laugh harder. "I was kidding, I was kidding!" He tries to hide his smile behind his hand when he sees the look of murder that no-doubt crosses my face. "Seriously, I just wanted to lighten the mood. You looked mad earlier, so..."

"Yeah, whatever." I close my eyes, pinching my nose. Like, what is wrong with people? Each day I live, I get more and more irritated with them. "Just leave me alone, Kostos. Not everyone wants to be here like you."

I don't want to be here, but nonetheless, I'm going to make the best of it. During goodbyes, Reyna made sure to note the positives instead of the negatives—like how I finally get to see our beloved Capitol, or how I can use this opportunity to the fullest.

So that's what I'll do. I'll use this opportunity to my advantage. After I win these Games, the Capitol will be so impressed with me that they'll make me the Head Peacekeeper or something. And living in the Victor's Village with Reyna would be heavenly.

So I'll win the Hunger Games, and that's all there is to it. Twenty-three others will have to die, but if that's how it has to be, then that's how it's going to be. It's not my place to question the Capitol.

For all they've done, I'm forever loyal.

* * *

><p><strong>Iris Logan, 12;<strong>

**District Three Female.**

"You two should really eat up! Both of you are just so scrawny!"

My escort Balbina laughs to herself, scooping up some slimy yellow stuff with her fork. She called it _macarit_ and cheese or something, but it just looks nasty to me.

I look down at the food placed in front of me. It's bread, cheese, and squashed tomatoes mixed into a triangle shape—a _pizza_, I think she told me. It smells so good, but I just don't understand. How do you make food like this? And why?

I'm too scared to taste it—and besides, my stomach isn't feeling it anyway. The fear builds up there, making home inside my intestines, feeding on my anxieties. I'm _scared_.

I've just been reaped for the Hunger Games. I just saw my mommy, my daddy, and my twin sister for the last time. It _hurts_, thinking about things like this. But I can't stop. Why me? Why did she pick my name? It's not fair, not fair, _not fair._

It's just so unfair.

"Come on, sweetie." Balbina gives me a look of concern, a bit of cheese on her lip. If I was in my right mind, I'd tell her about it, maybe even wipe it off for her! But I'm not in my right mind right now.

_I'm just so scared. _

_I just don't want to die._

"I'm sorry..." My voice is weak, breaking at the smallest of syllables. Suddenly, my eyes sting—but I shut them close, not daring to cry again. I may be weak, I may be about to _die_, but I can still be strong. I really, really can.

My Escort sighs, putting some more of that cheesy stuff in her mouth. She's given up all hope in me now, I can tell. First it was Tet; she couldn't even get a word out of him. And now it's me. _I'm sorry, _I want to say, but I can't.

Speaking of Tet, I glance over at him. He's still in the same spot, sitting in a chair at the very side of the train, staring out the window. My Escort said something about him being in shock, and maybe he is, but I can't help but just feel sorry for him.

I snort. _Look at me. Feeling sorry for a boy older than me_. For a split second, a sad smile crosses my face. _At least this whole thing isn't breaking me completely. _

That's one thing I can't let happen to me. My parents, my sister, my friends—they all know me by my sunny smile, my cheery attitude, my helpful personality. If they saw me now, moping like this, refusing to eat food graciously given to me...

I swallow down my tears, chuckling to myself. _Don't let this break you, Iris. Even you can be strong if you really try. _

I can; I _know_ I can.

"What? What's funny?" Balbina gives me a look of confusion, but shrugs it off when I don't say anything, going back to eating her food. Even though she's partly why I'm here in the first place, I can't hate her. She's been nothing but nice to me ever since I got here.

I should be the same.

Picking up a fork, I stab the pizza, trying to pick it up. For a few moments, I keep trying to eat the pizza with the fork, but it's just not working! Why is it so hard to eat this stuff? Do the Capitol people do this on purpose?

Suddenly, I hear a laugh. Looking up, I see my Escort covering her mouth, her shoulders shaking. She's...laughing at me? They really _are_ doing this on purpose, aren't they?

"You don't eat it like that, sweetie," she says, closing her eyes to control her laughter. I blink, feeling my face get hot.

"Oh."

"Here, you eat it like this." She grabs a slice of pizza from the large saucer in the middle of our table, handling it like a professional. I stare, perplexed and slightly amazed, as she brings the pizza to her mouth and chews on the end. Sighing contentedly, she places the rest on her plate, still chewing. "Do exactly what I did, dear. Go on, try it!"

"Okay..." I grab the pizza like how she did, slowly bringing it to my mouth. Honestly, I'm not really hungry, and this weird Capitol food isn't very appetizing...but it's the least I can do for Balbina. She's trying hard to help me, and I need to let her know that I'm grateful.

Because I really am grateful. I'll need all the help I can get to get through this. And in return, I'll give help back.

It's just what I do.

I take a bite—and instantly, the taste explodes in my mouth. I hum, savoring it, my taste buds melting in delight. It's delicious! I take another bite, and another, and another—and before I know it, the whole pizza is gone, digesting in my stomach.

Balbina laughs when I reach for another piece, and I end up laughing at her laughter. In seconds, we're both laughing, cheese on her lips and cheese on my hands.

The Capitol people may be a bit messed up inside—but they're still people, they can still be sweet and kind when they want to be. As long as I'm good to my Escort, I think she'll be good to me.

"Well, the Reaping Recaps will be on in an hour or two," she tells me, and just like that, my mood plummets again. I had momentarily forgotten about the Hunger Games; I had momentarily forgotten about my death.

I glance over at Tet, who's still staring out the window. He hasn't moved an inch since we got on this train. Is that how he's coping with all this?

Trying to smile, I get up from my seat. I can help him adjust, if anything. I mean, I'm still not fully adjusted myself—but helping him just might help me. And being that sweet, helpful girl again is just what I need.

_I may end up dead in a week, but that doesn't mean I'll let them take away my shine. _

_I won't let them break me. _

* * *

><p><strong>Ula Dylan, 18;<strong>

**District Four Female.**

I stare at the gold ring Pond gave me, watching as it shines in the light. It's very pretty, probably the prettiest thing I've ever seen before. For him to have given me something like this, something so beautiful and expensive...

I still remember the way his body trembled when he hugged me, the way his lips felt when he kissed me. It wasn't long at all—but it was enough. Enough to swallow down my apprehension and promise him that I'll be back.

Because I have to come back home. For him, for my sisters, for _myself_.

As if swimming in a sea of memories, all I can think about as I sit at the extravagant dining table are the Goodbyes. "Be strong," my dad told me, before embracing me in a long hug. Even though there were no tears in his eyes, he was trembling against me. Being the amazing father he is, he didn't want to break down in front of my three sisters.

And that's good—because if he were to cry, I would've cried. And coming out of the Justice Building with red puffy eyes after volunteering wouldn't have been a good look.

Immediately after thinking that thought, I snort. _A good look_. I close my eyes, the ring clutched in my hands. From here on out, I have to look good. I have to make these Capitol people like me, love me, _sponsor_ me. Can I seriously do that?

"So, what shall my lovely volunteer eat today?" My escort Cassian asks me, smiling. He's finally put on a proper shirt, and hopefully he's thrown that fake trident away. Seeing any sort of weapon makes me sick, especially after what I'll have to soon go through...

I shake my head, clenching my fists under the table. "Anything is fine," I say, keeping my voice low and controlled. I'm _trying_. Trying to keep my cool, trying to raise my chances, trying to stay alive.

He nods, his smile turning into a flat-out grin. "Okay. Lobster for District Four it is!"

..._Seriously?_

"Um..." Caio catches our attention, an almost sheepish look on his face. "Can I get something to eat, too?"

Our Escort glances at him, his enthusiasm gone with the wind. It's horribly obvious who's the favorite here—it's _me_, and I'm not too sure how I feel about that.

"Why? I gave you a choice when we came in earlier." The Capitolite's voice is vexing, his patronizing tone making Caio frown. "Eat the snacks plastered around, or wait until lunch. You, unlike your lovely District Partner, chose to eat then and there—so no lunch for you! You'll just have to wait until dinner."

"And who made you the boss of my eating schedule?" Caio demands, that irritated attitude of his coming back. After the Reapings, he seemed more quiet and subdued. I'd even go so far as to say friendly. But Cassian brings the worst emotions out of anyone.

Caio just isn't afraid to voice his emotions. And that'll be the death of him.

_Don't say that, _I think, immediately. _Don't turn into that kind of person already. _

Caio and Cassian argue for a bit, and all the while I'm dead silent, just watching. I do that a lot; listening to people is better than talking, observing people is better than being the one observed. Unless it's something I'm really passionate about, you'll never see me leading a conversation.

Caio isn't a bad person at all, contrary to our Escort's beliefs. He's pretty quiet around me, but he won't bite his tongue whenever our Escort says something to him. And for some reason, it takes him a long time to make a decision. When Cassian asked us to choose between eating now or later, it took Caio nearly five minutes to give a straight answer. In the end, Caio chose to eat then—and now he's regretting that decision, it looks like.

"Fine!" Our Escort looks away, fuming. "What do _you_ want to eat then?"

And just like that, Caio's angry expression turns into a troubled one. I stare, almost amused, as he ponders the question for a bit. And then, he turns towards me. The unspoken question is as clear as day: _What should I get?_

"Have you ever tried lobster before?" I ask him, trying to smile despite the emotions running rampant through my body. He shakes his head. "Yeah, me neither. But there's a first time for everything, so why not give it a shot with me?"

Caio nods, turning back to our Escort. "I guess I'll be getting the lobster..."

"_Great_," the Capitol man replies, obviously miffed—and then he goes off to order the food or something. When he does, I relax my posture, letting out all the troubled emotions with one long sigh. I seriously hate that man.

Suddenly, Caio looks at me, smiling the first smile I've ever seen him smile. "Thanks," he says.

"No problem." Reciprocating the smile is the problem, but I somehow find strength to do it anyway. I can be that kind, helpful girl; I can be any type of girl I have to be.

_But can I be a killer? Is that what the Capitol expects me to be?_

_Do I even have a choice?_

I already know the answer to that question. I _don't_ have a choice. If I'm ever going to return home, I'll have to say whatever the Capitol wants me to say, do whatever the Capitol wants me to do...

Kill whoever the Capitol wants me to kill.

_Can I seriously do something like that? Turn into something I'm so clearly not?_

I don't know.

* * *

><p><strong>Alexandra Fearn, 14;<strong>

**District Five Female.**

"This food is disgusting." I shove the plate away, wiping my mouth. Michael gives me a look, his brown eyes displaying the innocence lying within. It'll be sad when he dies—because let's face it, he's going to die fast.

I'm probably going to die, too. _But you can't die. There's too many people on the line here. _

"Young lady, that is no way to behave!" My escort Drusas berates me, wagging his finger like I'm some sort of dog. "This may not be the kind of _slop_ you ate back in your district, but—"

"Don't even finish that sentence," I interrupt, narrowing my eyes. "Because you sound extremely ignorant. You have _no_ idea what we eat in District Five, so don't just assume that it's slop because we're supposedly lower than you _amazing_ Capitol people."

I've learned pretty quickly just how two-faced and irritating my Escort truly is. In front of cameras, he acts all goofy and stupid—but when he's alone with us, his true colors are shone. He thinks he's _better_ than everyone else, and the amount of compassion he feels for us are nonexistent.

Well, he's not dealing with a crybaby this year.

If he wants to be a dick, I'll be a bitch.

"You are such a disappointment, Alexandra." His face is red, his nose turned up in disgust. "You volunteered for this, so I thought that you'd be a bit more pleasant than the usual brats I have to deal with. Unfortunately, my first impression deceives me."

"Maybe you should learn not to base everything on appearances." I point at all the decorations placed around—the chandeliers, the gold, the unidentifiable drinks. All of this luxury, wasted on two teenagers that are going to die.

_Stop saying that. You'll survive through this. You don't have a choice, Ali. _

"But if you're going by first impressions, I will, too. Everyone in the Capitol are vain, self-preoccupied _freaks_ who eat rainbows for breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

"That's enough!" Drusas exclaims, slamming his hands on the table. "You really need to learn a thing or two about respect, missy, because that's the _only_ way you're going to survive in this world. You can bad-mouth the food, fine—but don't you dare disrespect me, because I'm the _only_ way you'll get sponsors. And without sponsors, volunteer or not, you can kiss your victory goodbye!"

And with that declaration, he gets up from his seat and storms off, probably to go powder his nose or something. I smirk, crossing my arms.

_Well, I didn't think that through, now did I?_

But on a serious note, I really despise him.

These Capitol people are disgusting. Like, honestly _disgusting_. They kill our families, obliterate thousands upon thousands of people in District Thirteen, and now they're slowly breaking the districts' population, slowly breaking away their spirit.

They kill children.

And the sad part is, they really enjoy it.

I mean, the Hunger Games are _bad_, but it wouldn't be so bad if the Capitol people didn't truly enjoy watching kids die. Unlike most people, I see the cleverness put into these Games, the Games' true meaning. Take twenty-four children away from their families, make their deaths as public and gruesome as possible, and do it all again next year. Sooner or later, the districts will get the message: _Don't fight back, don't ever raise a hand against us—because we can do this and so much more. _

It's brilliant.

And I hate it.

I sigh, running a hand through my coal-black hair. Without my Escort to piss off, it's awfully quiet. It was stupid to make him mad, I realize that. But how else am I supposed to act? Because of this evil society, I was condemned to a fate worse than death. Not exactly reaped, but basically the same thing.

And I'm scared. I try to act like it's not real, that I'm _not_ heading off to a city of people cheering for my demise...but it's hard. I'm just fourteen; I'm just a kid; I _don't_ want to die.

_Well, maybe you shouldn't have been dealing in adult affairs. _I ignore that annoying voice in my head.

"From how he reacted, it was as if _he_ was the one that cooked this food," I say to myself, rolling my eyes. I would get up and go to my room now, maybe even cry, but the Reaping Recaps will be on soon and I need to see my competition.

I'm not the type to sit back and let people walk all over me. I may end up without a head, killing my family in the process, but I won't lie down and wallow in depression. I've seen too many tributes go crazy during the Games, and I won't be one of them. My mind is literally the only thing I have going for me.

"Maybe he _did_ cook it. That'd be a plot twist."

I look up, and Michael's smiling at me. It's a smile peppered with sadness, but it's a smile nonetheless.

He almost looks familiar. It takes me a moment to realize why—and when I do, my reclusive nature starts to unwind. I'm talking too much, giving Michael the idea that I want to be friends or allies or something. I _can't_ be allies with Michael; he's a bloodbath, that much is certain, and getting attached to people isn't something I plan on doing.

_Not again. _It hurt the first time.

It'll kill me the next time.

* * *

><p><strong>Breno Harmont, 17;<strong>

**District Six Male. **

"Hello, citizens of Panem, and welcome to the Reaping Recaps for the Fifth annual Hunger Games!" Aeliana Devrine grins, enthusiastically waving at the cameras. She's the Hunger Games' Interviewer, and from the amount of applause she's getting, I can guess that she's really loved by those colorful Capitol people.

Yet another thing that divides the Capitol from the districts. In District Six, we don't have any _celebrities_ or anything like that. Not even a Victor to call our own. There's the mayor, sure, but nobody really jumped for joy whenever he greeted us.

Maybe because the one day that he truly _did_ greet us, two of our own were being shipped off to die.

And this year, I'm that lucky male.

It's scary, being a tribute for the Hunger Games, knowing that I'm expected to woo millions of people and then kill twenty-three others. The Games were always so far away that I could ignore them. And at the same time, it was always so close enough to snatch me up.

And after five years of ignoring them, I was finally caught. _At least I lived my life to the fullest, _I think, frowning.

Aeliana talks a bit more, complimenting a few districts for being standouts this year. Of course, District Six isn't one of them. But why would we be? With a thirteen-year-old girl and a boy like _me? _I'm surprised they didn't put us on the Bloodbath list.

"But anyway, let's start with District One, shall we?"

The screen cuts away from the Capitolite's smiling face, going to District One's Reaping. At this moment, I look away, down to my bowl of soup. What's the point of looking at some boy who'll be more handsome than me, or some beautiful girl I'll never understand?

The end result will be the same. A knife straight through my forehead.

Suddenly, my Capitol Escort walks in. Vita is her name, and on her unnatural pale face is a troubled expression. She sits down right in front of me, sighing, running a hand through those orange locks of hers. Chip and I always wondered whether or not it was her real hair.

It _is_, apparently. If the price of finally knowing wasn't my imminent death, I'd be pretty happy right now.

"Where's Ceres?" I ask. As soon as my District Partner and I walked onboard, Ceres mumbled something about crying to death and went off to her room. She hasn't come out since—and since it's time for lunch, Vita went to go see if she wanted to finally come and interact with us.

Apparently not.

"Ms. Cantrell said that she wasn't hungry," Vita responds, staring at the table. "This whole transition must be hard for her..."

She actually looks worried—which is endearing, if not irritating. _She_ was the one who pulled Ceres' slip out of that bowl of thousands. If Vita really cared, why would she agree to be an Escort in the first place?

Other tributes would probably try to sympathize with their Escorts, but I just can't do that. From appearances, Vita looks like a nice, friendly woman. But I can't go by appearances. It's easy to get lulled into a false sense of security because of a person's outer appearance, which is why I can never trust someone within the first few minutes of meeting them. Probably not even the first few days.

It's so easy to get hurt in this world. This sick, yet beautiful world.

Suddenly, Vita smiles, all the worry wiped from her artificial face. "Well, I guess we know which tribute I should focus on, now don't we?"

See? She doesn't care. Not about Ceres, and not about me.

If she cared, if anyone in the Capitol truly cared, I'd still have my two brothers. I wouldn't be here.

"District One was nice, as usual," Aeliana says, her yellow hair tilting a bit. A wig, obviously. "They seem different from earlier years, don't they?"

Pictures pop up, showing Adeline and Vesper of District One. They do look a bit different this year. Adeline doesn't look like a complete bitch, while Vesper doesn't look as conceited as the boy from last year.

But as I said before, first impressions don't matter. Like in my Reaping, I tried to act secure and confident, when I'm everything but. These Reapings are for the Capitol, not for the tributes.

Nothing for the tributes. Except death, that is.

"Let's look at District Two, shall we?"

A redheaded girl is reaped, stating her name as Echo Woods. She looks confident, and strong. _More confident than me, stronger than me_. Suddenly, a boy volunteers, just like last year. Kostos Sylett is his name—and he looks kind, but just as confident as Echo. Both will be threats, that's for sure. Two tributes I absolutely need to stay away from.

"Two strong tributes from District Two, as usual," says Vita, trying to make small talk. And because I'm a friendly person, if not a bit hardened, I force a smile on my face.

"You must love that. Stronger tributes mean more bloodshed."

"That's right!" Vita's exclaims, suddenly really cheerful. The bells on her ears jingle as she nods her head; if she were in the districts, and I was with Ilene, we would've attempted to steal them. "I'm so happy that you understand! Most tributes are so closed-minded, you know?"

_Closed-minded? Is that what she thinks?_

And that's why I hate the Capitol, and everyone from it. They've killed millions, including my brothers—yet, they don't think they've done anything wrong. They don't think they're _doing_ anything wrong.

Well, the district's may have started the violence, this may be _our_ fault—but this is still wrong.

The Capitol, the war, the Hunger Games—it's all _wrong_.


	7. Train Rides Part Two

**Train Rides Part Two**

* * *

><p><strong>A Cannon in the Wind;<strong>

_The Fifth Hunger Games_

* * *

><p><strong>Daniel Church, 17;<strong>

**District Seven Male.**

"And now, for District Three!" Aeliana exclaims, her voice bright and bubbly.

The screen changes and shows the residents of District Three, their scrawny forms momentarily shocking me. I mean, District Seven isn't that well off either...but for them to be _that_ scrawny, how could they ever have a shot at victory?

_It could happen, _I tell myself, biting my lip. _It'd be wrong to cast them off as corpses already. I shouldn't do that. I'm not like the Capitol._

I'm nothing like the Capitol. Those people should be ashamed of themselves. Seriously, this isn't right. None of it is. Hoarding people inside districts and forcing them to work day and night isn't right. Kidnapping twenty-four kids and publically killing them isn't right.

I feel sorry for District Three. If I could, I'd help them. I _would_.

But instead, I'm riding on a train to the very people that endorse these kind of things. I'll have to fight for them, kill for them, do anything and everything for _them_.

The Capitol is so selfish. It's all for them. Everything for _them_.

Nothing for the districts. If I was in charge, I'd help them. I'd be there for them. Sometimes, that's all I want to do. To _help_ people. People like District Three, who live miserable lives inside of their districts, enslaved by a ruler that takes and kills two of their children annually.

_If I was in charge…_

"That's a bad thought, Daniel," I tell myself, shaking my head. Power corrupts people, and I'm not so self-righteous as to think I wouldn't be corrupted. That's the main reason I didn't let my little brother volunteer.

It's not even the fact that he could've died. If he won, he would have started another rebellion, and more and more lives would have been lost. And then, if he somehow led the rebellion to victory, there's no doubt in my mind that he would've gained power over Panem.

And while my brother isn't a bad person, I don't want him doing anything worse than what's already happening in this cursed country. He's too smart, and that's his fatal flaw.

The Games would change him.

But they won't change me. I'll go in as I am, and go out as I am.

The alternative would kill me. Literally.

When the tributes of District Three show on the screen—Tet Kender and Iris Logan—I'm momentarily overwhelmed. They're both so _young!_ How can the Capitol condone this? Why are they so cruel?

"Well, we know who _not_ to worry about," Tacita, our Capitol Escort, mumbles. Her voice is as monotone as ever. I glance at her, hiding my cold fury behind an indifferent face. "Well, what do you two think? I'm not going to continue talking if I'm not going to get a response."

"I'm going to assist them," I say immediately, ignoring both her and Calla's looks of astonishment. "It is absolutely repugnant of the Capitol to have those two kids fighting for their lives. It'd be distasteful _not_ to help them."

Tacita's surprised look turns into a deadpanned one. "You do realize that only one tribute will be coming out of the Arena, right?"

"Of course I do." I stand my ground, not trying to be too hostile with her. That's what's wrong with the world; too much hate and not enough love, too much fighting and not enough compromising. "But I'll get to that when it approaches."

Before Tacita can say something rude, Calla opens her mouth. "Why did you volunteer, Daniel?" She asks, her eyes boring into my own. "I mean, you and your little brother were easily one of the most well-off people in District Seven. There aren't many people who smith our axes when they get dull, y'know? It can't be for the money, right?"

She's right. If I were volunteering for the riches, that'd be the biggest mistake of my life. Luke and I don't need money of any kind. We're very well-known in District Seven for our blacksmithing abilities, which our father taught us a while back in District Two.

The reason we had to leave is a sad one. My parents tried to incite a rebellion in District Two, because most of the people there were too afraid of the Capitol to fight back. It failed, obviously, and my parents put us on a train to District Seven right before their capture and probable execution. Sometimes, I really want to believe that they're still alive, wanting desperately to see us...but I know that's just false hope.

I'm smart, and I know when things just aren't worth hoping for. Most of the time, at least.

"My younger brother had wanted to volunteer, even at his young age. I couldn't let him give up his life like that," I tell her, holding back a chuckle. Luke would literally roll his eyes if he heard me say something like this. He's too arrogant sometimes, and his death wasn't even something he considered.

But I considered it. And losing my little brother wasn't something I was going to let happen.

"Oh. That's...so sweet." Calla brightens up, showing a bit of her true self for the first time. She's been a bit reserved around me—because I volunteered for this, no doubt—but now that she knows the truth, knows that I'm not some sick individual, she feels she can be herself around me. And her true self is actually pretty sweet and kind, I bet.

Just like the majority of people in District Seven. When Luke and I moved from District Two to District Seven, we didn't know what to think. It was just so..._different_. The clothing was so distasteful to me, the people so unintelligent and naive compared to my brother and I. But we got used to it, and even started up a business.

They weren't the kind of people we grew up with—but they were _nice_, and that was all that eventually mattered to me. Nice people get so much farther in life than bad people.

_But do they? You're a tribute now, Daniel, and you'll have to eventually act like one. _I swallow those thoughts down my throat. I'm not going to change for the Capitol. I'll defend myself, but I'm not going to make it a goal to kill as many tributes as I can.

Unconsciously, I place my hands around the golden medallion, my _token_. Luke almost spent everything we own to make something like this. It's a...Plan B, you could say. When turned a certain way, this medallion will morph into a makeshift blade.

It's against the rules, but Luke didn't care. Anything to get ahead. I was a bit apprehensive on taking it, because honor and loyalty is everything to me.

But just like everyone else, I don't want to die.

That's not wrong, right?

* * *

><p><strong>Zander Engres, 17;<strong>

**District Eight Male.**

"And now, for District Four."

Aeliana's face is cut away, the television showing District Four's Reaping now. The boy, Caio Artelle, is reaped first, and he's definitely displeased about it. The girl from District Four volunteers for her little sister, though. Ula Dylan is her name, and other than being older than me, I don't see her as too much of a threat.

_A threat_. I almost snort, but I'm way too dignified for that. Father always taught me to wear a mask of complete calmness and control, no matter the situation. Even though the Reaping shocked me enough to momentarily break down my walls, I'm not going to embarrass him again. Just because I'm being shipped off to the Capitol, about to partake in a battle royale, doesn't mean I'm going to let his teachings go to waste.

I don't want him to be disappointed in me. All I want to do is please him. Even during the Goodbyes, though, he still had that cold look on his face. Like I'm a failure, like I'll always be a failure, like I'm just a worthless disappointment—

_No. He doesn't think that. Just continue doing what you do, Zan, and he'll eventually come along._

Yeah, my father will appreciate me eventually. Eventually...

...But I don't have much time left, do I? I almost forgot, I'm about to be in the _Hunger Games_. The Hunger Games, where twenty-three tributes meet a gruesome end. The Hunger Games, where I could _die_.

Some sort of noise leaves my throat, something akin to fear—but before anyone can look and see why, I quickly put on my indifferent facade. _Don't show fear, _my father always says. _Don't show weakness of any kind, Zander._

Even though this is a complete nightmare, I'm not going to let my emotions get the better of me.

"Are you okay, Zander?" Kaya asks, her big blue eyes showing a hint of worry. But I don't want this stupid girl to be worried about me; if anyone's supposed to be worried, I'd rather it be my father.

I sit up just a bit straighter, just like I was taught. _Always show your dominance, Zander. You deserve respect._

"I'm fine." My reply is terse. I don't want her thinking that she can be friendly to me. For all I care, she can drop dead.

This entire country can drop dead, actually. I don't care about anyone but myself. _And my father. Just because he may sorta forget about you, don't forget about him. Never forget about him._

She pauses for a moment, before giving me a wary smile. "Are you sure? Personally, I'm a wreck right now, and I'd love for someone to talk—"

"Well then talk to Sabina," I interrupt, gesturing towards our Capitol Escort. She's completely ignoring us, content to stuffing herself with a variety of colorful foods. Fatass Capitol freak.

Kaya bites her lip. "Could you speak a bit louder? I heard you, but not very loudly, and working in the factories—"

"I don't care!" I say, a lot louder so her ears can pick up every single syllable. "I don't want to talk to you! You're bothering me, and I'd like for you to leave me alone and _shut up!_ Did you catch that?"

"Well—!" Kaya's eyes flash in anger. She's just about to say something scathing, I can tell, but suddenly she bites her lip and stares at the table instead. "Okay, I get it. You're pissed off about being reaped—and I am, too. You just look like a cool guy, y'know, and I just didn't want you wallowing in despair during our time here. I'll, um, give you time to cool off?"

I don't respond. She's got a fiery side, I can tell, but she's too nice for my liking. Nice people like her are the absolute first ones to die. And I don't want any part of it. I deserve to win the Hunger Games; I can't be preoccupied with the state of my allies or whatever.

In the end, they'll all be dead. Because I have to win. Kaya can die. The pair from District Four can die. Everyone in the goddamned Capitol can die for all I care.

District Five shows up on the television now. Thirteen-year-old Michael Riverbee and fourteen-year-old Alexandra Fearn, the latter volunteering for some odd reason. For a quick second, Michael and Alexandra both remind me of myself a bit.

Michael's crying onstage, something I used to do a lot when my mother was blasted to bits. She was the closest person in my life—and just like that, she was gone. And Alexandra's smiling at the camera like she's trying to get the attention of somebody important to her. I always did crazy things to get my father's attention, hence the multiple scratches on my face. In the end, though, my quest for acknowledgment failed—and so will hers. Volunteering will be the literal death of her.

"That's sad," Kaya mumbles, mainly to herself more than to me. "They're so young. They don't deserve this..."

And just like that, a plan starts to form. I don't know why those words trigger something in me, but they do. I'll use Kaya to act as a shield while I go through the Games safe and sound. She's so nice and pathetic, she won't suspect a thing. It's wrong, probably, but I'm a cunning person when I have to be.

And right now, I have to be. Because I deserve to win.

I deserve to win the Hunger Games.

And then, my father will finally be proud of me.

I can't lose control; I can't fail.

* * *

><p><strong>Terrance Vallier, 16;<strong>

**District Nine Male.**

Aeliana Devrine grins at the cameras. "The competition seems to be heating up, everyone. But now, let's get to District Six."

I stare at the television, leaning in a bit. If I'm going to succeed, I need to see my competition, analyze their every action. Even the tributes of District Twelve could prove dangerous, and I'll need every advantage I can get.

The screen changes, and the people of District Six seem to stare right back at me. Ignoring their soulless eyes, I focus on the orange-haired Escort pulling out a slip. The male is called: seventeen-year-old Breno Harmont. He looks pretty calm for a boy just condemned to death—but I can see through that facade a mile away. Immediately, multiple scenarios of his death come to mind, each of them by the hands of yours truly.

No, I don't _want_ to kill him. But it's best I get used to the idea of my weapon slicing into another body. What has to be done will be done; there's no emotional satisfaction at all, it just _is_.

If I'm going to win the Hunger Games, I'll have to kill. Especially if I truly want the Capitol's assistance. I'm not going to be one of those foolish tributes, the ones that think they can get through this without a drop of blood on their hands.

Just like the tributes before him, Breno Harmont means absolutely nothing to me. Nobody means anything to me, if I were to be brutally honest. With no parents, with no friends, I've had to provide for myself for as long as I can remember. I wasn't going to end up as one of those sniveling children, begging for food until they eventually starved to death.

Just like how I'm not going to end up as a causality, my body scooped up and sent back to poor District Nine. There'd be nobody there to accept it—except Dalton, I guess, but they wouldn't give him my body. I guess I'd be cremated in the Capitol, maybe even used as a Mutt for the next—

Okay, I'm not letting my train of thought lead me _there_. I'm not going to die, and that's final. If I can build myself up from the ashes in District Nine, I can kill twenty-three others and return home. I know I can. I just need to work hard enough.

_But you're always working hard. How much harder can you work before you drop?_

_As hard as I have to_, I tell myself.

Thirteen-year-old Ceres Cantrell is reaped as District Six's female tribute, and for a quick second, I bow my head, giving a silent prayer to the soon-to-be corpse. I may be a bit weathered, but I'm not a monster. I just do what I have to do to survive in this world.

The Capitol wants a monster as their Victor, but I'm not going to be that. I may be "pro-Capitol" to an extent, but that doesn't mean I'm going to change myself for them.

I'll change for nobody.

Sitting on the couch right beside me is Toren, her eyes red. When we first got on this train, she cried—but only for a bit, because not even thirty minutes later, she was right back in here requesting food. She seems tough, but there must be something more to her. Something nice, something I can manipulate to my advantage.

I wouldn't call myself a manipulative person, but I _would_ call myself intelligent. I take every opportunity I get and use it to further myself, because not doing that would just get me killed.

When District Seven appears on-screen, seventeen-year-old Calla Mallow is immediately reaped. I focus on her and her only, noting the way she walks and _everything_. The girl from District Four has a messed up leg, which won't be hard at all to use to my advantage. While Calla doesn't look like she has any obvious weaknesses, she doesn't have any obvious strengths either.

I'll have to observe her more during training.

"She looks like a good ally," Toren murmurs, more to herself than to me—but I hear it all the same.

I can't stop myself from snorting. "Until she ends up chopping off your head."

Her head whips around so fast, I'm surprised it doesn't swing off. "Excuse me?" She says, her brows furrowed. "What are you trying to say?"

I roll my eyes, ignoring my District Partner. Arguing with Toren would be pointless, and I don't make it a habit to do pointless things. They just waste time and energy, time and energy that could be used elsewhere.

Back in District Seven, a boy tries to volunteer, but then seventeen-year-old Daniel Church beats him to the punch. By the way he's smiling at the cameras, it's obvious that volunteering isn't as glamorous an idea as the District Two boy made it seem.

_I can use that against him somehow. I know I can._

All it usually takes is a bit of thinking, and nothing is impossible. Like how I "sided with the Capitol" during the war. Without my intelligence, I would've never thought to trick the Peacekeepers like that. I would've never gotten back on my feet.

Without my intelligence, I would've died a long time ago.

I look down at the medallion wrapped around my neck. Dalton gave it to me during the Goodbyes; it's his Peacekeeper Medallion, the one he got for excellence overall. He sees it as sentimental, something to help me remember him by.

But I don't see it the same way. I see it as a way to flaunt my allegiance to the Capitol. How could they kill one of their supporters? The Hunger Games are for the rebels. And I'm not a rebel.

_Neither are you on their side, Terrance. _But that doesn't matter. I'm an opportunist.

I'll use this opportunity, the _Hunger Games_, to make more of myself.

What must be done will be done. That's what I always say, anyway.

* * *

><p><strong>London Tienna, 18;<strong>

**District Ten Female.**

The sun is slowly coming down, the sky turning a deep shade of purple. The trees pass by in a dark green blur. For the umpteenth time today, I'm wishing I was back in District Ten. During this time of the night, Lucas and I would be snuggling together, watching the stars flashing in the night sky.

I press a hand on the window, a weird feeling of dread in my chest. It's like a very bad breakup—or worse, it's like I've been reaped for the Hunger Games.

_Because you have been reaped for the Hunger Games._

Oh, right.

I look away from the window, not wanting to wallow in self-pity for much longer. I'm not normally like this. I'm London Tienna—happy, enthusiastic, loving London. I'm not this sad, depressing girl. I'm _never_ this sad, depressing girl.

Standing up, I see to my left Ricky watching the television. To be honest, I haven't paid much attention to the Reaping Recaps. When my District Partner and I first got on this train, I ate so much food that the Hunger Games were momentarily forgotten. And then, when I felt my stomach wouldn't last much longer, I sat over by the window and fought sleep. Watching the wildlife go by in a blur is one of the most boring things in the world—but honestly, I needed a bit of that calmness.

_...Watching the wildlife go by. Wildlife. Like pigs. Like the pigs in District Ten._ I shut my eyes, hitting myself in the head. I need to stop thinking about District Ten! That won't help me. It won't help me. It won't...

...But what will? My Escort? Ricky? _Another_ tribute?

I don't know. I'm one of the smartest kids in school, yet I don't know the one thing that'll keep me alive. My dad would know; though he's not exactly the happiest soul, he gives the best advice. And mom, she'd be working tirelessly as usual. She'd definitely find a way to stay alive throughout this.

_Dammit, I miss them. I miss them already. I even miss my annoying little sister..._

...I'm getting depressed again. Forcing a smile on my face, I march over to where Ricky is, sitting on the couch right next to him. He gives me a quick glance, before his face turns crimson red and he looks away.

I bite back a laugh. That's so cute! _Cute, like Lucas. I wonder what he's doing without me right now? If I die, will he find a new girlfriend? How long will that take him? A minute? An hour? A day, a week, a month?_

Blinking back the tears, I force the thought out of my mind. _No crying, London!_ I haven't cried yet, and I'm sure not going to cry now. Besides, I'm going to...win. Yeah, I'm going to win, so there's no reason to cry...

_I'm going to win the Hunger Games._

"And now, for District Eight," says Aeliana Devrine on the TV. The chubby Escort reaps the female first: sixteen-year-old Kaya Vause. With each step she makes to the stage, it's like watching a window crack further and further until there's nothing left but dust. It's sad, really—but I'm not in the position to pity her. Especially considering we're in the same boat here. The boy is reaped next: seventeen-year-old Zander Engres. He's in complete shock, walking to the stage with his mouth wide open.

Despite myself, I start snickering. Ricky gives me a look—but hey, don't blame me! It _is_ pretty funny.

"Now that I think about it..." I say, nudging my District Partner with my elbow. He turns to look at me, his face getting redder by the second.

"Huh?"

"From this perspective, it makes us seem like we're from the Capitol, watching the Reapings together." I laugh some more. I don't know why, but for some reason, it's just so funny! Trying to stop my stomach from cramping, I put on the best Capitol impersonation I can think of. "I'll bet my ring finger that Mr. Engres falls _right_ off the pedestal! Ohohoho!"

Ricky cracks a small smile, but doesn't say anything in response. That's fine, though. I'm not really looking for a conversation, or even an ally. I'm just looking for a distraction, no matter how minimal it may be.

District Nine appears on-screen next, their endless fields seeming like a paradise compared to the Square. The Escort reaps sixteen-year-old Terrance Vallier first. He's pretty cute, I admit, even though he's a bit younger than me. The female tribute is reaped next: fifteen-year-old Toren Ingalls. She doesn't even look like she can fully comprehend what just happened to her. Her hair is so messy, too; I'd rather _die_ than look like that on national television.

...That was a really bad choice of words.

Now that I think about it, though, I wonder how _I'll_ look? Hopefully not too crazy; running away was my first instinct, and punching that Peacekeeper was just the first thing that came to mind. The more I think about my Reapings, the less and less I want to see it.

But suddenly, Rufus walks in, just as our district is displayed on the TV. He's our crazy Capitol Escort, the one that technically condemned us to this awful fate. Yet, for some reason, I just can't hate him. He's been nothing but nice to us this entire time—and hating people isn't something I do in the first place.

I just can't help but adore other people, even when they're rude. _So how do you expect to kill them, London?_

I don't know. I don't know a lot of things, apparently.

"Okay, so you two won't believe this," he says, his communication-device-thingy pressed against his ear. He explained the concept to us a while ago, but it just seemed so farfetched that I couldn't believe it.

But I need to learn to stop underestimating the Capitol—because from what I can see, they can do anything.

"The people _love_ you, London. Other than the boy from District Two, you're one of the Capitol's favorite!"

"...Huh?" His words take me by complete surprise. For a moment, it feels like I'm falling, like I've just been given a meal too big for my stomach. "I'm...one of their favorites? But why? _How?_"

"When you were reaped, you ran, you fought back. Even though it wasn't the best image, it proved that you have what it takes to defend yourself. And your looks certainly didn't hurt the matter, either." Rufus has a big smile on his face as he nears me, placing a perfectly manicured hand on my shoulder. "They _love_ you, London. Please don't screw this up. You may be exactly what District Ten needs."

I feel something in my chest, something strong and suffocating and..._good_. I suddenly feel _good_. Because I have a shot at victory, a better shot than most tributes have. Usually, I'm the most self-confident girl you'd ever meet—but this is the Hunger Games, and things are different.

_I_ have to be different. I can't afford to be cocky anymore, I at least have the common sense for that. But I _can_ be confident in myself. And confidence is one thing I have plenty of.

I glance at Ricky. He's staring at the television again, but the small frown on his face is as clear as day. It must suck, not being as liked as your District Partner—but I don't want him to think he's any less than me. I don't want him to be intimidated by me.

Because I'm just a normal girl. I'm not a killer, I wouldn't even call myself a threat. But I'm not giving up, either, and that's where my true strength comes from.

The Hunger Games are a curse—but I know I can win. Nothing more than fate has brought me here. Why throw someone like me into an arena if I don't have what it takes?

So I'm going to win.

_I have to._

* * *

><p><strong>Meeko Brighton, 14;<strong>

**District Eleven Female.**

For the umpteenth time today, Priscilla—our Escort—gives Koda a look that'd shatter glass. "Can you please _stop_ moving?" She demands, her voice high and frilly.

The Capitol's accents have always intrigued me a bit. Why do they talk in such high voices? Why do they put so much emphasis on their _S _words? My accent is a bit different than the others in District Eleven—but my skin color is an abnormality as well, so I guess it makes sense.

Immediately, Koda stops tapping his feet, avoiding Priscilla's gaze and looking down to the table. After many hours of being around Koda for today, I've come up with the solution that he's _scared_ of the Capitol people. And why wouldn't he? Once a year, these crazily-dressed people come to our district and kill two of our own people. Even the Orphanage Keepers have started threatening us with the Hunger Games.

Ironic how her threats just became a reality. It's so funny that I could _die_.

Note the sarcasm, please.

"That's better." Priscilla goes right back to reading her magazine. It's something about Capitol fashion, I believe. "Honestly, Koda, why can't you be more like Meeko? She's quiet, and she's smart enough not to bother other people when they _explicitly_ don't want to be bothered."

"But—" Koda begins, yet he's instantly cut off by Priscilla's hand right up in his face.

"There are no butts. Today has not been a great day, mind you," she says, motioning to the mop of hair on her head. It's pretty long; It goes all the way down to her knees. It got pretty drenched during that storm in District Eleven, though, and obviously that put her in a horrible mood. "I just wanted a moment of peace, but of course that's impossible when you're talking every five seconds. And on the off-chance that you're not talking, you're moving. Does District Eleven fail to raise their children correctly?"

_Says the lady that chooses two kids to die. Annually. _I dislike the Capitol citizens—and Priscilla is a good example on why. They're snooty, and arrogant, and have less common sense than an _ant_.

Her patronizing tone is the worst. She thinks she's better than us, just because she was born in the winning side of the war. I don't use the word _hate_ very often, but by the end of my time in the Capitol, I'm pretty sure I'm going to start.

I want to tell Priscilla off, tell her that Koda has ADHD and can't help how he is. I want to tell her that Koda doesn't have any parents to truly raise him, because his father left before he was even born and his mother was thrown in prison when he was only six-years-old. I want to tell her how much I dislike her, how much I dislike this situation, how much I just want to go back to District Eleven and live the rest of my life in peace.

It's not a good district at all, yet it's not a bad one. I don't like it, yet I don't dislike it. District Eleven is the only place I've known—and that's where I want to be.

Even though I want to explain all of this to her, I don't. All I do is place a hand on Koda's lap, silently comforting him, just like how I'd do when one of the Keepers yelled or hit him. I don't need to use my words to express my feelings. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not crippled, I'm _not_ useless.

There's silence on the train, other than the Reaping Recaps. Honestly, it's really late now, and Koda and I should be heading off to bed. But other than our own Reapings, we still have yet seen District Twelve.

I know that I'm just fooling myself by thinking someone like me stands a shot at this, but I just can't help but try. Because if I don't try, there's no way I'll succeed. Even though the odds are completely against me, they're still better odds than if I just gave up.

Giving up isn't in my blood, you could say. When my grandfather passed away in his sleep, I could tell he fought to the very end. And when my father stole those crops to feed us, getting whipped to death in the process, he wasn't giving up. It's easy to starve in District Eleven, but the determination my family had is the only reason I'm still alive now.

"And now, for District Eleven."

The storm we had during the Reaping was one of the bad ones. Everyone was getting drenched—but the Capitol didn't care. All they wanted was their tributes. This year, though, District Eleven got off easy. Two orphans were reaped. No families to mourn. That's the best thing that could happen during a Reaping, you could say.

Or rather, it'd be good to reap a Victor. _Will I be that Victor? Doubtful. But I'm still going to try._

Priscilla reaps Stag first—and for a moment, I'm just stuck in my own space, staring at the older boy's face. As cliché as it may be, I've had a...crush on him since forever. I know that he's four years older than me, and that he and Koda are closer than we'd ever be...

But I'm still a teenage girl. Don't judge me.

Koda volunteers, which probably has the entirety of Panem rolling in laughter. And then I'm reaped, my expression closed off. Aeliana says a few things about us, and then it's on to District Twelve.

"Why do they do this again?" Koda asks, looking away from the screen and to Priscilla. She groans, slamming her magazine on the table.

"Because your people decided to have a war, and then you lost," she answers, every bit bitter. "And as punishment for going against the Capitol, we have the Hunger Games. Don't you listen to the Treaty of Treason?"

Koda blinks. "What's that?"

Priscilla then stands up, sighing. "It's nothing. Just go to bed. When you wake up, we'll be heading into the Capitol. So just go to bed, okay?" And with that, she storms away, that mess of hair dragging on the floor.

Koda stares after her—and then, he jumps up, grinning. "Phew, I was wondering when she'd leave! Why is she so mean, Meeko?"

As usual, I don't answer. I get up from my seat, walking down the hall to my bedroom. I know sleep may never come, but I desperately need some time to myself. Koda follows me down the hall, but stops in front of his own room.

I stare at him. He stares at me. After tonight, all of this will be real. Both of us heading to a place that'll force us to kill each other. It's horrible, inhumane—but it's Panem, and I've gotten used to life screwing me over.

"Goodnight, Meeko."

_Goodnight, Koda._

Tonight, it can feel like we're still in District Eleven, still in the orphanage, still friends.

But tomorrow, we'll have to adapt to being tributes.

* * *

><p><strong>Eion Daltier, 18;<strong>

**District Twelve Male.**

I lay in the comfy Capitol bed, staring at the ceiling. Even though it's beyond dark, my eyes have adjusted enough to see the swirly patterns aligning the walls. It's completely silent in my room, but I can still hear Isabel's crying through the wall.

It sucks. All of this sucks. The Reaping, right now, and everything in-between.

It just _sucks_.

I grab the iron chain off of my wrist, holding it above my face. It's dark, but the chain gives off a small amount of shine. Isn't that, like, some sort of literary technique? In the darkness, even this old iron chain can give off a small bit of light. If something like this can fight against the darkness, then can't I?

_I can_. Rolling to my side, I sigh, letting my eyes close for the first time since I've gotten in bed. _I may be from the poorest, weakest district—but I can still fight against the Capitol. I can still fight for my life._

And isn't that all I want? To _live? _I mean, I'm just a normal teenage boy. The only weapon I've ever held is a butter knife, and I definitely wasn't trying to kill anyone with _that_. I've gotten in trouble a few times during school, yeah, but I never actually got in a fight with anyone. Compared to the other tributes I saw during the Reaping Recaps, I'm as normal as they come.

But that's fine, right? I'm not gonna lay here and lie to myself. If I can't do something, then I can't do it. If I _can_ do something, well, I can do it. That's all there is to it, honestly.

_But what can I do to stay alive? _That's the real question. The tributes from District Two have their training, but what do us from District Twelve have? At least the Seam kids know how it feels to starve—but I'm not from the Seam, I've grown up with a comfortable life compared to most people in my district.

I furrow my brows, suddenly feeling irritated. Isabel's crying hasn't let up, and I doubt it's going to anytime soon—but that's definitely not the reason I'm getting frustrated. The reality of everything is slowly catching up to me. And I'm scared.

I'm going into the Hunger Games.

And I'm scared.

But how am I _supposed_ to feel? _Happy? _I doubt anyone in my position would be happy. And if they are, then something's really wrong with them. I'm just an eighteen-year-old guy from District Twelve. Being reaped was always a possibility, which is the reason why I tried to live my life to the fullest.

Making friends wherever I went, exploring the district when I got bored, and even getting in trouble with adults were all things that I loved doing. Because I realized, a long time ago, that I wouldn't be a teenager forever. That one day, I'd grow up, build a family of my own, and have to start thinking responsibly.

I just wish it didn't have to happen so soon—and in the worst way possible, too.

"CAN YOU _SHUT UP_ IN THERE, BRAT?!"

I jump, surprised by my Escort's sudden outburst. And then, I'm angry, because Nerva has _no right_ to speak to Isabel that way. He just basically ruined her life! If she wants to cry, then she has every reason to. Hell, I don't even know why _I'm_ not crying yet. I feel sucky, but the tears just haven't come yet.

"WHY DON'T _YOU_ SHUT UP AND LEAVE HER ALONE?!" I scream, right back at him. I don't miss the way my voice cracks mid-sentence, but I don't care. If I'm going to cry, I'm going to cry. Just like Isabel, I have every reason to be crying right now.

My whole life was just _stolen_ from me. And I don't want to die.

I'm just a teenage boy; I really don't want to die.

But still, what am I supposed to do? Coming from District Twelve, I don't have a lick of training. I don't even know how to properly hold a knife, much less a giant weapon! How am I supposed to survive?

The answer comes out of nowhere: _With allies. _For a moment, I ponder this thought, feeling the soothing hands of sleep reaching at my consciousness. _Yeah, allies would definitely help me get further than if I was alone. But who could I ally with? I'll definitely ask Isabel tomorrow, but she's the only person I can probably trust..._

Sleep starts catching up fast—and before I know it, it's taking a lot of effort to stay conscious. Melancholic thoughts start filling up my mind, just when I feel the entire world start to drift away.

If only I spent more time with the people I love.

Because, win or lose, nothing will be the same anymore.

I'm going to be competing in the Hunger Games—and the moment that gong goes off, I'll no longer be a teenager.

I'll be a tribute.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Hey, guys! Sorry for the mini-hiatus I had going on. Life was hectic, FF was hectic, and overall my laziness prevented me from finishing this sooner. BUT here it is. I hope you enjoyed?<strong>

**Sorry, but I split the Train Rides in two chapters because having it all in one chapter was just way too long. I did a 12 POVs because I wanted to see who I was comfortable with writing, and who I needed to work really hard on. Of course, this was only half of the tributes. The chariot rides will also be two chapters: one chapter for the chariot prep, and the second chapter for the actual chariot rides, 6 POVs each. And then, after the chariots, I'm guessing each chapter will have 4 POVs? That's my plan, anyway. If you have any other questions, just send me a pm.**

**And yeah, some tributes may not act like you envisioned them to. That's because, in my opinion, a tribute that's always happy and cheerful will not be happy and cheerful right after they got reaped. The next day, yeah, I understand them acting as who they are. But during the train rides, I think tributes are going to be too deep in thought and depressed. So yeah. Next chapter, though, a tribute that acts happy and enthusiastic WILL act happy and enthusiastic. I just thought it'd be stupid to have someone like Iris laughing when they were just crying onstage.**

**And yeah. I'd really, really, REALLY love a review? Personally, my writing irks me at moments, so I'd like to know what you all think about it. I'd also like to know what you all think of the tributes featured in these two chapters.**

**So yeah! I really hope you enjoyed?**

**Bye-nii~**


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